The Second Survivor
by onewavelessshore
Summary: Harry finds a woman who, he is sure, was hit by a flash of green light. What changes will this mystery survivor bring to the life of the Boy-Who-Lived? Independent!Harry
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything in, of, or from the Harry Potter universe._

_Takes place during the summer after OotP. _

**_ The Second Survivor_**

**Chapter 1 - Prologue:**

Her dead weight felt like lead in Harry's arms, it was all he could do to kick at the door without toppling over on the mat. Harry cursed at his luck as his cousin opened the door, for he knew that Dudley would just slam it in his face, leaving Harry and his burden out in the pouring rain. Dudley's eyes widened as they fell on Harry's burden, and to Harry's surprise, he removed his bulk from blocking the doorway, allowing Harry to carry the young woman in. Just as he stepped over the threshold, the arms that had been locked around the girl's unconscious form for over an hour now finally gave way. Performing the first feat of quick thinking he had ever displayed in his life, Dudley came forward to slow her decent, lowering her gently to the floor.

Closing the door behind him, Harry leaned against it for support, his legs quaking beneath him. He was just grateful that he had had the initiative to pursue a strict workout schedule this summer. He told himself it was to improve his quidditch game, but in reality he couldn't expect himself to stay alive during the final battle if he was out of shape. He had learned the value of mobility in a wizard's duel. Shaking his head against thoughts that always seemed to be wandering off toward the prophecy, Harry just concentrated on remaining upright. He had pushed himself past his limit of endurance. He didn't even think he could make it up the stairs. All he wanted was to lie down right there in the entryway and sleep for a week.

He brought his head up when he heard someone else enter the entry way. Aunt Petunia entered from the kitchen, glaring furiously at Harry, not even glancing at the woman on the floor. Harry braced himself for an onslaught, thinking that he really didn't have the energy to even look at her straight on. The extreme weariness eminting from his eyes and posture must have made him look horribly pathetic, because she paused as she realized that he was about to collapse. Only then did she bother to notice the bleeding woman on the floor.

She was beautiful, with soft features and full dark lips. Her long dark hair was tangled and wet from the rain, but the dark halo it created behind her head on the entry floor made her pale face seem to glow. She was bleeding in a dozen different places, looking like she had just walked through a food processor. The cuts were clean and shallow, there were just so many of them. Blood seeped from them, staining her unusual attire. She wore a brown shirt that laced up one side. It was covered by a dark brown coat that fell to her knees. On her feet were soft leather boots that came most of the way up her calf, the tops of which were covered by a dark green skirt, the bottom of which was unevenly cut, with tendrils past her knees and slits up to mid thigh. She was also wearing a pair of tan leggings under the skirt, tucked into the tops of her boots. The strange thing was that none of the clothes seemed to have been cut by whatever had sliced her up, just the skin underneath was torn. Stranger yet, she had a wide brown belt fastened around her waist, off which hung a long sword in a dark scabbard. Its hilt was silver, embedded with blue stones that seemed to glow with an inner light. They matched the perfectly cut stone that hung around her neck on a delicate silver chain.

Dudley still hadn't taken his eyes off of her. He seemed afraid that if he looked away she would disappear. Aunt Petunia's eyes widened and she backed away to the wall. Harry could see the wheels turning in her head. Harry took a deep breath in, his chest aching with the motion. Letting his words ride on the released air, he tried to dispel some of the anxiety gathering in her eyes, "She's no witch," he whispered. His aunt looked at him and he breathed again, "I don't know who she is." With his strength spent, Harry slid along the door to the floor, coming to rest in the pool his dripping clothes had created. His vision turning black as he heard his Aunt call for Uncle Vernon. His last thought was a wish that they would not dump the poor woman he had carried so far back out on the door mat.

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_It's short, I know. And I know I not the best writer, so bear with me and let me get the story out. I am very fond of constructive criticism, so if you have any advice to give me on writing, I'm all ears. Please review._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. As much as I dream and wish and hope I am not that creative._

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 2:**

Harry slowly resurfaced. Opening his eyes he shut them quickly against the light. His muscles each moaned with soreness as he tried to sit up. He was on his side in a very uncomfortable position. He was laying on something hard; the ground, he guessed and his right shoulder was propped up against something that was probably a wall.

Harry painfully pushed himself up so that his back was resting against the wall and his aching legs were stretched out in front of him. He tried to open his eyes again, slowly this time. He squinted blearily around the room. He was still in the entryway with his back against the door. His clothes were still damp, and there was a puddle several feet in front of him that was tinged a slight pink. Harry creased his brow with worry, what had the Dursleys done with her? He drooped against the door and tried to summon the will to get up and see where they had taken her; she had to be still in the house, he was blocking their means of disposing of her.

He had found her about three miles away to the north in a park, lying unconscious on the grass. He had gone for a run as he did almost every night. About four miles out he had been attacked by some gang. It was twilight and they were looking for someone to entertain themselves with. They strung themselves in his path, making him halt in his run. As he slowed to a stop he checked that his wand was still tucked into his shirt. Their leader, a tall guy with broad shoulders and long blond hair that had been pulled back into a pony tail, wiggled his fingers then clenched his fist threateningly around the brass knuckles he sported on his right hand.

Harry stopped about fifteen feet from the leader and the other gang members slowly began to surround him. Some of them holding knives and other common street weapons, one even held a length of chain. They were all smirking at him. Harry almost smiled as he tried to bring his breathing back to normal. If they were picking on him, then they weren't beating up anyone else. Harry kept his gaze focused on the leader, but his attention was on listening for movement behind him. He did not want to be caught off guard.

"Where do you think you're going?" the leader asked with a you-should-be-frightened look on his face that he probably practiced in the mirror.

Harry continued to catch his breath, when it looked like Blondie was about to snap he straightened up and looked him in the eye, "What? You got a problem with people exercising?" he said calmly.

"No, we just have a problem with skinny little nobodies like you," Blondie responded, trying to provoke Harry into doing something stupid. In his experience there were two kinds of people, those who cower, and the ones who think they're tough, but are prone to let their anger get the best of them. Either type was easy prey to his gang.

Harry laughed at his statement, taking Blondie by surprise. "Oh, how I wish that I was nobody." Harry had to be careful; he wanted to make them wary of him, but not angry. Before Blondie could wipe the confused scowl off his face Harry spoke again. "I'm sure you guys are busy and don't have time for the kind of confrontation you generally pursue, so I'll make you a proposition: You pick any one man out of your ranks and I engage him, one on one. I win and you let me walk away. That's got to be more entertaining than doing the same thing you do night after night." Harry held his breath, hoping that they weren't offended by his attempt at diplomacy.

Blondie stared hard at Harry, intrigued by the idea of a one on one fight. Before he could say anything, a guy holding a knife to his left spoke up, "What if we win?"

Harry shrugged and looked at him lazily, "You won't."

That pushed them over the edge, "Alright, we accept your _proposition_. Dawson, teach him to respect his betters."

The guy to the right of Blondie with the chain growled, stepping forward while the others formed a ring around him and Harry. Harry didn't move. He watched his opponent out of the corner of his eye while still staring straight ahead, preparing mentally for the battle. He had to shut out all distractions. This fight was going to be tough, he knew that. His enemy was several inches taller than him, and at least fifty pounds heavier. Harry had taken note of the heavily muscled shoulders and gnarly fists earlier.

His first concern was getting the chain out of the picture, if he got hit with that a couple times he'd be down fast. After that he only had to bide his time, striking when his opponent had worn himself down.

He waited, motionless, listening. Dawson had disappeared from his field of vision, circling to the right. This'll be good practice, he thought absently. He sensed a sudden shift behind him, and ducked quickly to the left, barely avoiding the lightening-fast swing of Dawson's chain.

Harry spun on his right foot, bringing his left up as he came around, catching his overbalanced opponent in the small of the back, and sending him stumbling forward several steps. He wanted to make him mad, angry opponents made mistakes; but judging by that first attack, Dawson made plenty of mistakes anyway.

Once Dawson had regained his footing, they faced off across the circle. Harry stood tall and straight-backed, not showing an ounce of fear for the man across. Dawson had taken a wide stance, holding the chain in front of him threateningly, though a tiny bit of respect for his opponent had tempered the snarling.

Harry waited calmly for Dawson to attack again, but he was more intelligent then Harry had given him credit for. Instead of rushing at him, Dawson crept forward slowly. He didn't want another kick in the back. Harry stood, unmoving, while Dawson advanced until he was only a couple steps away. He took the last two steps in a rush, swinging his chain at Harry.

Expecting this, Harry quickly sidestepped to the right before suddenly bursting forward. His unexpected aggression caught his opponent by surprise, and Harry was able to latch onto the wrist swinging the chain, which had reversed direction and was returning to defend from the attack. Noting the momentum of the returning chain, Harry ducked; using the grip he had on Dawson's wrist to continue the chain's swing over his lowered head and into his opponent's face. The blow caused Dawson's grip to loosen on his weapon, and Harry wrenched it from his grasp, flinging the chain aside. Harry then retreated before his opponent could recover.

Now that the chain was out of the picture, the only thing Harry had to worry about was whether Dawson's friends would keep their bargain. He knew he couldn't take on that many at once without resorting to magic, and remembering his visit to the ministry last year for saving Dudley, that was something he wanted to avoid.

Dawson turned and glared at Harry, his anger apparent on his face and in his stance. He charged straight at him, and Harry readied himself to dodge while launching a strike at the passing aggressor. But Dawson did something unexpected, he slowed just before reaching Harry, then launched his fist to the left of where Harry had been, gambling on that being the direction Harry would dodge. Unfortunately, he had guessed correctly and landed a solid blow to Harry's jaw.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise, but he rolled with the punch, lessening the damage. He completed his summersault and landed on his feet, opening his jaw in an attempt to assess the damage. It wasn't broken, but there was going to be some nasty bruising. He had to be careful; now that Dawson had lost his chain, he was a completely different opponent, one that Harry didn't want to underestimate again.

They circled in fighting stance, warily eyeing each other. Harry could hear the other gang members encouraging their fellow.

After one and a half revolutions around the circle, something passed between the two combatants and they rushed each other, sprinting full speed. Harry knew he couldn't take a head-on collision with the bigger man, so at the last moment he leapt, diving for Dawson's legs.

Dawson's eyes widened at the maneuver. He had been expecting a dodge to the side, not a forward dive.

Harry collided hard with Dawson's knees, wrapping his arms around them. Dawson's momentum carried the rest of his body forward, causing him to fall hard. Harry let out a cry as Dawson came down on his legs, hoping they hadn't been broken. The large man moaned and rolled to the side in an attempt to get up. He was favoring his right arm as he stood shakily, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Harry rolled the other way, springing to his feet, ignoring the pain in his legs and shoulder. He didn't think anything was broken, thankfully. He couldn't say the same for Dawson, who had tried to break his fall with his hands, painfully jarring, and probably breaking, his right wrist.

They turned towards each other again. Harry attacked first this time, coming fast and hard. He attacked lightening fast, fists and feet flying in to deal solid blows before retreating back to defend. Dawson could not keep up with Harry's speed, and with his injured wrist he was overmatched. He managed to deflect a good number of Harry's attacks, and even landed a few blows of his own, but they were glancing hits, causing little real damage.

After several minutes of this furious exchange, Dawson's exhaustion was palpable. Harry stepped back and hit him with a strong roundhouse kick, causing him to fall to all fours. He knew it was over, as did Dawson. He had won, now the question was: were the others going to let him go?

Blondie looked furious, but even gangsters have some sense of honor, however twisted it was. Besides, his men were all terrified of Harry now. Dawson was the ace, he had never been beaten. So Blondie let Harry on his way, and he made a mental note to never go running in that neighborhood again. They may have let him go this time, but if they saw him again, Harry was sure they wouldn't hesitate to beat him to a pulp.

He walked slowly home, deciding he had had enough exercise for one evening. After about a mile he paused rubbing the shoulder that had collided with Dawson's knees. Something didn't feel right. When his scar prickled he knew something was wrong. All of a sudden he saw a green flash, accompanied by a strong, sharp pain lacing through his scar.

Harry clapped his hands to his forehead, stumbling towards the source of the green light, hoping he was wrong. Then the sky opened up. The heavy clouds had been threatening all day, and they didn't disappoint. The rain was torrential, falling in huge drops that had Harry soaked in seconds.

The pain in his scar increased, and then there was a second flash, in the same direction as the first. Bringing his hands down, Harry tried hard to ignore the pain in his head as he quickened his pace.

There was a park a block over, and Harry was sure that was where the flashes had come from. As the trees along the edge came into sight over the neighboring houses, the pain in Harry's scar started to fade. As he reached the edge of the park he pulled out his wand, but the park was empty save a pair of crumpled heaps on the open field of grass in the center of the park.

Harry stretched his hand out to the nearest tree and leaned against it, the pain in his scar only an echo of what it had been. He hoped against hope that those dark piles in the field weren't Voldemort's latest victims. He put his wand away, realizing the aggressors had left.

His heart ached as he forced himself to approach the smaller one. It was a little girl, no older than six, bright curls now plastered to her pale forehead by the rain. Harry didn't have to touch her to know she was dead. He clenched his fists and shouted at the sky. Tears of pain and anger mingled with the rain. That monster would pay. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the murderer, would pay.

Harry stumbled towards the second heap, dreading what he'd find. It was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, maybe a year or so older than him. She was dressed very unusually, and in her right hand she gripped a long, silver sword. What was most shocking about her was that her chest was moving up and down very slightly. She was breathing!

Astonished, Harry knew he had to get her to help. There was a muggle police station half a mile away, they would help her, he knew. But he dismissed that idea almost as soon as it came into his head. He wasn't sure, but he suspected this girl had survived the killing curse. Dumbledore would no doubt want to talk to her.

He searched her for a wand to confirm his suspicions that she was a witch, and came up with nothing. Then he realized: this girl had pulled a sword out to fight Voldemort with, not a wand. A muggle then, Harry thought with astonishment, and a very odd one at that.

There was no way he was taking her to muggles, so she could tell what she saw. They would either believe her, blowing the cover of the magical world, of they would believe she was crazy, and someone who could take a killing curse and survive was much too valuable to the Order to be locked up in a muggle loony bin.

Harry pried her fingers off of her sword hilt, sliding the beautiful weapon into its scabbard. He then slid his arms under her sprawled form and gently lifted her up from the muddy grass. Ignoring the ache in his muscles from the fight and the itch of the rain running down his back, he started the long walk back to Number four, Privet Drive.

_I'm really curious how the fight scene worked out, let me know. I've also realized that sometimes the story doesn't flow like I'd like it to- Any suggestions would be welcome._


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I disclaim it all; none of it is mine... except for Inez… and the plot, that's mine too._

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 3:**

She slowly swam toward consciousness, grasping it from out of the dark. She didn't open her eyes; something was screaming in the back of her mind that something had happened, something she couldn't remember. Something she didn't want to remember.

She was in a bed, a strange bed. She could hear breathing next to her as she lay unmoving. Slowly she inched her hand under the blanket towards the knife that was strapped to her thigh. She wasn't sure if the person in the room had malicious intentions toward her, and she wasn't going to take the chance.

Good, it was still there. Quickly, in one smooth movement that made her abused muscles scream, she sat up, bringing the knife to the throat of the fat boy sitting on a rickety desk chair that seemed about to collapse.

The boy's eyes grew to an impossible size; he trembled beneath the knife point while sweating profusely. She took a moment to organize her thoughts. She was in small bedroom containing little more than a wardrobe, a bed, and a desk, the chair of which was currently occupied by the terrified fat boy. Her sword belt hung from the door knob, the silver sword thankfully still encased in the leather scabbard.

She seemed to be covered in numerous bandages – outside her clothes. She smiled internally at that thought. Elvin made clothing: indestructible and cannot be removed without wearer's consent.

Her body felt like she had been run over by a herd of horses, or hit by a large truck, or dropped, rolling down a mountainside. The cuts were smarting under their bandages, and she was sure there was a great deal of bruised flesh under her slightly damp clothes.

Finally turning her attention to the quaking mass under her knife point she quietly asked, "Who are you?" The boy quivered even harder, making her fear for the already straining chair. Seeing that he was incoherent she withdrew her knife, holding it loosely at her side. He wasn't a threat, but he wasn't going to be much help either.

Rolling her eyes she leaned tiredly against the wall behind her, swinging her legs over towards the edge of the bed. She wanted to be ready in case someone actually capable of communicating came into the room. "I'm not going to hurt you," she said, more to stop the slight whimpering that the boy had started to emit, then to reassure him.

When he continued to stare at her with eyes that were disappearing into his fleshy face, she sighed and slid forward to sit on the edge of the bed. Feet on the floor she rubbed her aching hands over her bruised face. She paused, focusing inside, dulling the ache and healing the cuts. As she felt her flesh bind itself back together she brought her head up in surprise. She had always been able to accelerate her healing, but to heal all those cuts completely in seconds was, previously, beyond her capabilities.

She quickly unwrapped the bandage on her left fore-arm, pulling up the sleeve of her coat to gaze at her arm. The arm was now clean and pain free, a thin white scar, the only evidence of the wound, faded to nothing before her eyes.

Pushing aside her astonishment for a time and place with less unknowns, she removed the rest of the bandages, still victim to the shocked stare of the fat boy. Feeling a little more like herself and a little less like road kill, she glanced over at him. Sighing she stood up and walked toward the door. No use asking him any more questions, coherency seemed to be a long time away.

Belting her sword around her waist, she walked out the bedroom door, knife in front. Pausing at the threshold she listened for any others who may be in the house. She heard the tell tale sounds of someone cooking downstairs. She walked slowly down the hall to the stairs. She wanted to get out of there, but first she wanted some answers.

From the top of the stairs she could see a boy, nearly her age, straining to pick himself up off of the door mat. He was almost her age, taller than her, and almost unhealthily thin. This did nothing to disguise the fact that he was in excellent shape. He had messy black hair, and bright green eyes that hid behind round rimmed glasses.

He straightened up, leaning against the front door behind him and closing his eyes against the ache in his limbs. He opened his eyes and he froze. She had been beautiful unconscious, soaking wet, and bleeding, now she was heart stopping. Her gray eyes were like ice, piercing him through, looking into his soul. Only Dumbledore's eyes could do that. She held herself with a certain dignity, a regal air not of pride, but of confidence. It made him want to fall to the ground at her feet, for most undoubtedly she was a queen.

She made her way down the stairs with an easy grace, but slowed as she neared the bottom and the boy. There was something different about him; he exuded a kind of aura, a pulse of great power. She opened her mouth to question him, keeping her knife between her and the boy half a dozen steps below, hoping that he wouldn't go all silent and terrified like the fat boy up in the bed room. But he surprised her, and he spoke first.

"You're awake," he said, trying to keep the exhaustion and just sheer awe out of his voice. He stiffly pushed himself up into a standing position. Collecting himself he plunged ahead, knowing she must be confused, "I'm Harry Potter. I found you lying in a park. I think you were attacked." He decided not to mention the little girl just yet; one thing at a time. His head started spinning again, trying to work out just what had happened. She head been hit by a killing curse, he was sure of it, but here she was, standing on the stairs of his aunt and Uncle's house. "What happened at the park?"

She looked him in the eyes answering simply, "I don't remember." What struck Harry most about that statement was, not that she seemed to have no memory of the attack, but that she seemed so matter of fact about it. Not a hint of confusion or uncertainty in her voice. Taking a breath she continued, "Where am I?"

Harry, getting over the initial shock, had just taken notice of the long knife she held easily in her right hand. Stuttering a bit he answered, "Th-this is my aunt and uncle's house, in Li-little Whining, Surrey."

She nodded and seemed to think for a moment before offering a small smile. Switching the knife to her other hand, she came the rest of the way down the stairs and offered Harry her empty hand. "I am Inez, Mr. Potter."

"Harry," he insisted. Her sudden easygoing friendliness caught Harry by surprise, but what surprised him even more was the fact that the change made him instantly relax. He almost forgot about the knife that rested inconspicuously in her left hand.

"How did I get here? Little Whining has got to be several miles from where I was." Inez said, looking intently at Harry with her brow wrinkled.

"I thought you didn't remember anything that happened." Harry commented back.

"The last thing I remember was arriving at the park, which, I assume, was the one you found me at. But, don't avoid the question, Harry. How did I get here?"

"I brought you here. You looked like you could use a little help."

"You carried me here," she stated, "In a car or on your back?"

"In my arms," Harry said quietly, not meeting her eyes.

She stepped forward with a quiet smile, placing her empty hand on his arm with a sincere, "Thank you."

Looking down at the hand on his arm, Harry realized that her hand and arm were clean, free of the deep cuts that had turned them red the night before. With a frown Harry looked up. "All your injuries are healed."

Inez let her hand fall to her side, stepping back a little. "I don't know how it happened," she told him quietly, "I've always been a quick healer, but this…" She gestured at herself shrugging.

The only explanation Harry could think of was magic, which reminded him that he needed to owl Dumbledore. "There might be an explanation," Harry began carefully, when suddenly Dudley's round form appeared at the top of the stairs, accompanied by Mr. Dursley. Having finally recovered enough to pull himself out of the chair, Dudley had decided to update the rest of the upstairs occupants of their guest's status.

At Harry's shift of attention from their conversation, Inez turned to see what had distracted him. Upon spotting the presumed owners of the home she was in, she smiled warily. Opening her mouth to thank them for their hospitality she was interrupted by the stout man who had supplanted the obtuse boy at the head of the stairs, and was now thumping down them scowling at her.

"Who are you, and how do you know the boy?" he asked gruffly, gesturing abruptly with one hand toward Harry.

Wrinkling her brow at his manner and choice of words, she deduced that she might not have been as welcome a guest as she had thought. She decided to answer the man with the same bluntness with which he had addressed her, "My name is Inez, and I have neither seen nor spoken to Harry in my life. Before today, anyway," matching his suspicious scowl with a hard stare.

Mr. Dursley, she inferred, was the sort of man who was blinded by prejudice, stereotypes, and his own flawed first assumptions. He was the type of man with which no interaction at all was preferable. Knowing her appearance and her apparent connection with his not so esteemed…nephew - yeah, Harry had said that this was his aunt and uncle's house – she figured she had blown whatever slim chance she may have had of winning this man's good opinion.

Deciding not to waste effort after foolishness, Inez had no intention of being anything more then civil with the man. Her character demanded, however, that she express gratitude for whatever service he had given her, no matter how grudgingly. So before he could respond to her straightforward reply she added, "And I feel I owe you a debt of gratitude for your hospitality. It is not many a man who will allow a complete stranger into his home, especially one as unusual as myself."

She hoped that by letting him know that she knew that he thought she was strange they would be able to finish this confrontation quickly, and avoid any loud, long raging on his part, as men of his type were prone to do.

'Oh no,' she thought, 'whose throwing around stereotypes now? Hypocrite,' she berated herself. Still, something about the way Harry's eyes clouded over with trepidation as he warily watched the scene in front of him told her that she was probably right this time.

The man's loud decent down the stairs had caused a tall, thin shrewish woman to emerge from the kitchen and involve herself in the drama unfolding in the front hall. Catching Inez's last comment, Mrs. Dursley came forward to inquire after the girl's health. After all, a show of genuine and well deserved gratitude was usually the mark of a, at least, partially decent person. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she approached.

Inez seemed to ponder the question for a moment, then answered with a slight smile playing on her lips, "Like I've been trod under by a couple hundred wild buffalo." She paused, watching the effects of her attempt at levity. As the faces before her hardened, she attempted to cover her blunder with more shameless thank-you's, "but I'm feeling much better than I was, and I am sure it is due to your generosity. Thank you, ma'am, for your help," she said, inclining her head toward Mrs. Dursley.

As she had moved closer, Mrs. Dursley had noticed something _odd_ about this stranger, which, combined with all the other slightly odd things she had noticed before, pushed her over the edge. She had almost been prepared to at least attempt to over look the strange clothing and unusual arrival – which was a great achievement for her - but once she noticed the absence of, not only the bandages she had wrapped the girl in, but also the deep cuts that had been beneath them, there was no longer any trace of potential acceptance in her demeanor.

Mrs. Dursley suddenly strode forward, her eyes hard, and stood before her husband to look accusingly down at her house guest. "How did those cuts heal so fast? You're some kind of a freak, aren't you? A freak like him," she said with venom, pointing to Harry.

Inez didn't know how to react to this sudden onset of malice. She was spared the trouble when Mrs. Dursley continued, "I will not have you in my house!" she screamed, "Get out."

She didn't have to be told twice. Turning abruptly, Inez grabbed the doorknob and swung the front door open. Turning to look back over her shoulder before crossing the threshold, she said softly, "I remain extremely grateful for your hospitality…however short-lived."

Leaving the Dursleys in shock, she departed, closing the door behind her.

Blinking his eyes once or twice, Harry finally fully processed what had happened and quickly followed her out the door, abandoning the Dursleys to their bewilderment.

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_Hope you liked it. Help me out here and tell me what you think. I'm also curious about where you think this fic should go. I have some scenes and ideas floating around in my head, but nothing like a concrete story line, so any input is welcome._


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I am poor, sadly getting no income from this venue. I am also deprived of the ownership of Harry Potter and anything related to him. _

_AN: Inez is pronounced exactly how it looks – "in-ez"('in' as in 'into', and 'ez' as in 'Ezra' or 'Fez') But if you've been pronouncing it some other way in your head and my way just bothers you, I won't be offended if you decide to continue using your own pronunciation. I have been in your shoes before. _

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 4:**

"Wait," Harry called, following Inez's swift departure down the path. Her steps slowed when she heard his voice. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head to look back over her shoulder.

The encounter with the Dursleys had affected her more then it should have. Her nerves were still frayed with the realization of her sudden new ability. How did she heal herself so fast? 'One thing at a time,' she thought as she turned the rest of her body around to face Harry.

When Harry had almost closed the gap between them, the front door banged open once again. Vernon Dursley, having apparently recovered his wits, stood in the frame, purple faced and boiling over.

"Get back in here, boy," he said in a menacing whisper so as not to attract the attention of the neighbors.

Harry spun around faster than a top, fixing his startlingly green eyes on his uncle. At those words, something inside Harry had snapped, and all the frustration that had been building up inside of him since Sirius's death came pouring out.

"Or what? You'll lock me in my room for the rest of the summer and feed me through a cat flap?" He said in a low voice, cold as ice. "Make me scrub every floor in the house until it's so clean, it's invisible? What will it be this time? Gonna sic Dudley's little gang on me till I cough up blood and can't hardly see anymore around the swelling! Or are you going to just call up Voldemort and say 'Hey, here's the infamous Harry Potter. Why don't you kill him? Kill him and finish the job you started fifteen years ago!' " His voice had risen gradually until he was shouting the last phrase at the top of his lungs. His anger was palpable, seething around him like some fierce intangible beast.

Breathing hard, Harry tried to calm down. Sure, it would have been entertaining to see Uncle Vernon blow up like Aunt Marge had three years ago, but Harry didn't think he could deal with the Ministry right now.

As he reigned in his anger, Inez, who had been observing the entire scene from her place behind Harry, made a decision. "Get your things," she said softly to Harry's back, "and we'll leave." From what Harry had said, it was obvious that his home life was less than happy, and there was no way she was going to make him stay in that house if she could help it, especially considering the treatment he would get after that explosion. So she gave him an out, and he could take it or not.

And take it he did. Not even turning to look at her, Harry marched quickly back to the door, pushing and squeezing his way past his sputtering uncle who turned to follow him, raging incoherently. He was back at the door, dragging a large trunk and carrying a beautiful snowy owl in a bird cage, in seven minutes flat.

Just as he was dragging the trunk over the door mat, Mr. Dursley came up behind him again, raving for all he was worth. "Where do you think you're going, boy? Don't think I'll take you back in when you crawl back crying you've got no money and nowhere to go!"

Inez hurried forward and relieved Harry of the cumbersome bird before stepping back, knife outstretched, to face Vernon. Harry beat her to the punch though, dropping the trunk and whirling around, a long wooden stick suddenly in his hand and pointing at his uncle.

"I'll go anywhere, as long as it's far away from you, and Merlin help anyone who tries to stop me!" His knuckles were white on his wand, but his hand was as steady as his glare.

All those years of negligence and abuse had been building in Harry, more so after Bellatrix had murdered his last chance of ever having a real home when she had knocked Sirius through the Veil earlier that year, and now furry at it all was radiating through him, evident in the powerful anger of his stance. It took all of the control Harry possessed to keep himself from letting loose on his uncle the myriad of cruses running through his head.

It was his uncle's reaction to Harry's anger that ultimately prevented him from doing something that would get him hauled down to the Ministry for yet another hearing. Something he definitely didn't want to deal with now.

In the face of Harry's anger Vernon had melted. His face, just a moment ago, flushed with anger, was now white as a bed sheet. His eyes were wide with fear, and his hands quivered at his sides, clenching and unclenching, as though trying to find something to hold on to in the midst of the paralyzing fear that had overcome him.

Harry, who had been avoiding his supposed family since he got back, was shocked at how far their fear of him and his magic had progressed. Sure he knew they disliked him, knew that they feared what he could do with his magic, but this was unrestrained terror.

Harry felt his anger slip away into an alarmed disgust, having seen that expression in his dreams too many times: on the faces of Death Eaters kneeling before Voldemort.

Veins rushing with disgust at himself because of this sudden new parallel between him and his parents' murderer, Harry stooped to pick up one end of the trunk at his feet and turned, dragging it down the walk.

When he had almost reached the gate, he felt the weight behind him shift in his hand, and glanced back to see that Inez had stowed her knife out of sight and was carrying the other end; Hedwig still dangling in her other hand.

They continued in that manner until they reached the corner, where Harry, after looking both ways down the intersecting street, stopped. Setting his end of the trunk down, he tried to sort out what had just happened.

His mind was still racing from the confrontation with his relatives, and he just didn't feel like he could deal with anything else right now. He knew that if he went to headquarters, or even the Weasleys, he'd have to explain everything to Dumbledore and then he'd be promptly shipped back to the Dursleys, and there was nothing and no one in either the wizarding world or the muggle one that could make him go back there.

He also knew that if he confronted Dumbledore in the state he was in, he would only end up yelling at him. The Dursleys weren't the only source of his frustration. Dumbledore and his secrets-kept-in-the-interest-of-protecting-Harry nearly made him angrier than anything the Dursleys had ever done.

At least the Dursleys' motives were clear, and all they ever did was make him miserable. Dumbledore would kill him with his secrets. He had already killed Sirius.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to reign in the anger that was bent on escaping. He needed to focus on the events happening right now if he was going to go through with his little stunt and actually leave the Dursleys forever; because if Dumbledore caught up with him now, he'd be back in that prison before sunset.

Inez, curious about this boy she had just helped to walk out on his family, set down her end of the trunk too, then set the beautiful bird atop it. Stepping around the trunk and owl, she went to stand beside him, facing the street.

"Where to now?" she asked, turning away from the neat lines of nearly identical suburban homes arrayed before her to gaze easily at him. "I have an apartment just this side of London we can go to if you have nowhere else in mind."

He turned and met her gaze without really looking at her. She could almost see the wheels of his mind turning in the depths of his emerald eyes. The wisdom she saw there, born of the pain of early responsibility, caused her to amend an earlier thought. This is no boy; he is a man: a man who is probably tired of being treated like a boy.

The practicality of her words brought Harry back to the present. He immediately began sorting through his present situation. "I'll be followed," he said, remembering the vigilance that the Order had watched him with last summer.

"I can lose them," Inez stated with confidence, taking his statement as agreement with her idea to return to her flat. "We need to get to the underground first, though. And it's not very fun to walk with luggage."

"We can take the Knight Bus," Harry suggested.

"If it'll get us there…" Inez said absently as she went to pick the snowy owl up off the trunk. "What is this Knight Bus, anyway?"

"You are a witch, aren't you?" Harry asked in surprise. She had to be, someone this unusual couldn't be a muggle, and there is no way a muggle would have survived the killing curse, which she apparently did.

"A what?" She asked in disbelief, turning back to him.

"I'll explain later." Harry didn't have time to explain the wonders of the wizarding world right now; they had to get out of there before the Order caught up with him. "It's a bit complicated," he added, pulling out his wand and signaling the bus.

The bright purple bus crashed into the street, seeming to materialize out of thin air. It screeched to a halt before them, and the door folded open to reveal the conductor standing on the steps leading up onto the bus.

Harry watched Inez intently. She had started when the bus first appeared, but seemed to quell her alarm quickly, merely raising a dark eyebrow in bemused bewilderment. The only sound she made at the unusual sight was a vague 'huh'.

Harry was surprised at her lack of reaction, for she could obviously see the giant bus - unlike regular muggles - and yet, she wasn't shrieking, or running, or any of the things he would expect a non-magical person to do at such a sight. She wasn't even frightened.

" 'ey there, 'arry. Weren't sure when we'd be seein' you again." Stan Shunpike said in his cheerfully excited way, snapping Harry out of his wondering.

"Hello Stan," Harry returned politely, "We need a lift to the nearest underground station."

"We'll take ya anywhere you'll be wantin' to go, ain't that right there Ern? Provided it's on land, o' course. That'll be eleven sickles apiece, and for thirteen you get …"

"Thank you, Stan, but we won't be needing anything else today, just the ride," Harry said, cutting in on his spiel.

"Let's get the luggage on board then, and we'll be on our way," Stan continued, still cheerful.

He made his way over to Harry's trunk, but before Stan could lift it onto the bus Harry asked him to wait while he dug out his money pouch, from which he extracted their fare, handing it to Stan.

He also let Hedwig out of the collapsible cage that he had ordered earlier that summer from an ad in the Daily Prophet. Pushing it flat, he placed the cage in the trunk before shutting it, and stepped aside so that Stan could get it on board. He told the owl to meet them at their destination, and she flew off with a parting nip.

Harry then turned back to look at Inez, who 'huh'ed again at the bus before returning his gaze. "After you," Harry said graciously, gesturing to the open door of the triple-decker bus.

He could hear her mutter under her breath as she hauled herself up the tall steps, "Why do I get myself into these things?"

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_Sorry it took so long, but you all know how things go. Thanks to those who have reviewed. I always appreciate input. Any and all suggestions/questions/comments/criticism is welcome. _

_Tell me if you would appreciate having a summary of 'what's happened so far' at the beginning of every chapter. 'Cause I know that I often forget what is happening in the story by the time the next update comes around, especially if I'm in the middle of more than one fic. Thanks all._


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: You know that I don't own it, do I really have to tell you? _

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 5:**

As soon as everyone was settled – Stan was leaning against the rail that separated the steps to the door from the rest of the bus. Harry had seated himself behind said rail, while Inez had occupied the seat behind Ern, and waslooking with anticipation out the front window – Stan turned to Harry and discretely asked, "So 'Arry, who's your friend?"

Harry shrugged, "Just someone I ran into," Harry was not inclined to tell Stan anything, even if it seemed insignificant, because he knew the moment he got off the bus everything he said could and would be repeated without discretion.

Then the bus started up with a bang, returning to some little back road just east of London, and Harry was too busy keeping his seat to respond to any more of Stan's inquiries.

Inez's eyes were shining as she stared out the window over Ern's shoulder. Glancing over, Harry realized that her almost excited expression was the happiest arrangement he had seen her face assume since they had met. It wasn't a smile, but it was something.

"So this bus can take you anywhere?" Inez asked with genuine interest.

"Yep," answered Stan, who tended to talk for both of the Knight Bus' staff, "anywhere a bus can go, and even some places they cain't," he stated, chest puffed out like the proud owner of a prize-winning racehorse.

Inez nodded as she watched a whole string of lampposts leap out of the way in fascination. "Will anything you drive towards just jump out of the way?"

"Sure." Harry answered this time.

"You mean you could drive this bus straight at the Tower of London and it would just step aside and let us pass?" Inez asked, incredulity leaking into her tone, "You'd think the Tower of London would be too self important to bother tearing up its entire foundation for a simple bus."

Harry stared at her in envy, how could she sit there calmly, considering the disposition of different roadside objects, while it was all he could do to keep his seat?

Ignoring his incredulous look, Inez voiced another question, "If this bus just appears out of thin air to pick up its passengers, why doesn't it just appear at its destinations? Why drive around at all?"

Harry looked at the woman across the isle, confused by her curiosity, probably because it had never occurred to him to be curious about the things right in front of him. For him the Knight bus just worked the way it did, it was magic and that was all there was to it. His curiosity was of the sort drawn to closed doors and dark corridors, those things that were concealed by shadows and secrets. The bus gave a rough jerk, wrenching Harry out of his musings, and he scrambled to stay in his seat, reminding himself not to let his thoughts wander off or he would end up on the floor covered in bus induced bruises.

Then something else happened that nearly made Harry lose his seat all over again. Ern, the usually silent driver of the knight bus, spoke. His voice was surprisingly deep for a man of his short, hunched stature. "This may be magic, but magic has its rules, too," he said slowly, answering Inez's question.

"Well said Ern!" Stan interjected enthusiastically.

Inez, who had been thoroughly enjoying the bumpy ride, while marveling over this new science she seemed to have found, straightened in surprise at the word 'magic.' Her brows knitted together as she recalled what Harry had said before the bus had arrived, _"You're a witch, aren't you?"_

She turned, giving Harry a long look, and resolving to hear a good, long, detailed explanation once they had gotten to her flat, away from prying eyes, and ears.

After dropping off a group of tittering witches and picking up a man with a funky looking cat draped over his shoulders that Stan had called a kneazle, and had charged extra fare for, much to the man's annoyance, the bus finally came to a jerking stop in front of an underground entrance.

Harry and Inez got off the bus, the first quite gratefully; he didn't think he'd ever get used to riding the Knight bus, but he had to admit, it was better then floo travel.

Stan followed them off with Harry's trunk, entreating them to ride again soon after unceremoniously dumping the battered trunk on the sidewalk. Harry waved as he disappeared behind the purple doors.

Harry and Inez stood in silence as they watched the terribly tall bus careen down the street.

Inez glanced at Harry and their eyes met for a moment before she turned to pick up one end of Harry's trunk. Harry quickly followed suit and they began to make their way over to the stairs that led down to the underground platform.

Just as they reached the head of the stairs Inez paused, looking out across the street. She turned to her companion and asked, "Mind if we take a quick detour? I'm a bit conspicuous," she gestured toward herself with the hand not occupied by a trunk handle.

"We can't let anyone catch up to us," Harry said, reluctant to give any of his 'minders' a chance to send him back to the place he had suffered in for nearly fifteen years.

"I'll be quick as lightning, and we can disappear better if I don't attract so much attention," she responded, already dragging Harry toward the department store across the street via trunk handle.

This comment made Harry realize that they were being stared at. Perhaps he hadn't realized because he had grown so accustomed to trying very hard to ignore staring.

This adventure would probably come to an abrupt halt if all Dumbledore had to do to find him was ask anyone on the street, "Hey, did you see where a kid with black hair and glasses went?"

"Oh yeah, he went off that way with some crazy woman who was dressed very strangely; I think she was actually carrying a sword!"

They received a very suspicious look from the security guard as they marched into the store. Inez somehow concealed the sword from him, and they must have looked innocent enough, because the guard persuaded himself that they weren't worth the effort needed to stop them, and besides, who wants to do the paperwork?

Inez had barely disappeared into the racks when she trudged into the dressing room, laden with merchandise. Harry sat on his trunk while he waited nervously. He kept expecting Moody or Tonks to turn up and send him back.

Inez emerged sooner then Harry had expected, looking much less conspicuous in a pair of lose fitting blue jeans and a long sleeved, navy t-shirt that hugged her curves. There was no sign of her old clothes or of the long blade she seemed so attached to.

Dumping her rejects into a heap on the counter set aside for that purpose, she led Harry over to the checkout.

The clerk looked at her funny when she handed him the tags unattached to the clothes, but she raised her eyebrows at him as if to say, 'something wrong?' and he just shrugged and rung them up. She paid with a credit card from her pocket, and they left the store quickly; trunk again suspended between them.

They hurried across the street again, but just as they reached the stairs that descended to the underground, Harry felt his insides freeze in anxiety. The newly familiar racket of the Knight Bus was again hurtling up the street. They had found him.

Distracted, he missed a step, stumbling and causing Inez to send an inquiring look over her shoulder. "They're here," he said in answer.

Inez, needing no further explanation, began to take the steps two at a time, pulling Harry's trunk along behind her, with Harry still attached to the other end.

Half running, half falling down the stairs, Harry almost face planted at the bottom where he was apparently expected to run normal again. Inez pulled them right past the ticket window; instead pulling two passes out of her pocket. She sent one through the reader and, lifting the trunk over the top of the turnstile, pushed her way through, tugging the trunk down behind her.

Harry could hear Tonks and Lupin calling his name, as well as Moody's clawed, wooden foot making its way down the stairs as Inez turned and handed him the other pass. He fumbled it a bit in his panic trying to send it through the reader; thankful that the wizards behind couldn't use their wands with so many muggles around.

After pushing through the stile he ran to catch up with Inez, who was dragging his trunk toward the nearest train, and picked up the other end. They sprinted towards the doors, hoping they would stay open long enough for them to get on, but not any longer.

Making the train with only inches to spare, Harry watched in amusement as the train left his pursuers looking forlorn on the platform.

He turned to his companion, trying to even his ragged breath; induced more by anxiety than exertion. Inez met his emerald eyes with her own storm grey ones, "Now we go train hopping, Mr. Potter."

"Train hopping?"

"Don't get to comfortable."

For the next hour they 'train hopped', as Inez called it; which involved getting off at random stops and boarding the next train in any direction to come along, never staying in the same train or on one platform for very long. Harry had to agree that it was a very effective way to lose any trailers. The downside was that he was completely lost as well, but that didn't say much, as he had never been to any part of London other than King's Cross, the Leaky Cauldron, and Grimmauld Place.

After riding across and around most of London, Inez began to direct their route a little more, bringing them to where, Harry assumed, her flat was. They didn't speak much, neither felt comfortable conversing where they could be overheard.

It was after eight when they finally emerged from the underground tunnels. By this time Harry was so sick of dragging his trunk around he was liable to light it on fire accidentally. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally; his nerves frayed and muscles aching. He wanted nothing more then to lie down on the pavement right there and let the exhaustion take him.

Inez was in almost as bad a shape. Her body had not yet recovered from her mystery ordeal in the park and was protesting vehemently. She hadn't eaten for at least 36 hours, and whenever she stood still for too long her eyelids threatened to fall closed. But she had more practice hiding her fatigue and looked only a little worn, while Harry looked like he was about to keel over.

They stopped at a small restaurant between her flat and the underground station, not bothering to look at the menu they just asked the waiter to bring whatever could be ready the quickest. Neither were about to wait around for very long. They were almost too tired to shovel the food in their mouths, despite their hunger, but somehow they managed and Inez paid with her card.

They picked the trunk up again, Harry with a sigh of resignation, and made their way to Inez's flat, which, she assured Harry, wasn't very much further.

Three blocks later Inez led Harry's trunk and its owner into a ground floor studio apartment. Harry stopped just inside the door, unable to focus on anything but staying awake, and waited to be told where to go.

Suddenly he found his sleep clouded view of the hardwood floor obscured by the long charcoal face of a golden-red horse. Forcing his eyes to focus, it took him a moment to register this sight.

Then he heard Inez speak some kind of pretty gibberish and the horse wandered off to a corner of the flat. "Don't worry about him, he won't bother you," Inez reassured him.

She pulled some blankets and a pillow off of a shelf and handed the pile to Harry, then went and pulled her futon couch flat for him.

"You can sleep here."

Harry stumbled over, slipping out of his shoes and falling onto the futon after tossing the pillow down at one end and shaking out a blanket to pull over himself. He was asleep in seconds, glasses still on his face.

Inez went to the full-size bed across the apartment. She pulled off her new clothes to reveal the outfit Harry had found her in, then tugged off her tall boots and slipped into the bed.

_Some explanations and confrontations next. Maybe we'll actually learn a little about Inez. _

_Any name suggestions for the horse? I'm also trying to come up with a new name for the DA for later, any ideas?_

_Hope you're enjoying it!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is Inez. Everything else, I dream about owning._

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 6:**

The world felt like it had turned itself upside down, and he hadn't even opened his eyes yet. He lay still, trying to remember why his world had changed from annoyingly hostile to twirling on its head.

Harry was lying on his side, and there was something pushing at one side of the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes he saw an unfamiliar room, but the first thing that struck him was the unusual clarity of the place.

That is what made him realize that the pressure on his nose was his glasses. He had somehow failed to take them off the night before. He sat up slowly and looked around.

He was in a pretty large, studio style apartment. It had been painted a soft dark green to match the sparse furnishings. Aside from the futon couch he was now stretched out on, there was a full size bed over in one corner on a raised platform encircled by a dark wood railing that left several feet of space all the way around the bed. As well as a small table in the kitchen area accompanied by a pair of simple chairs. The table and chairs had been requisitioned into service as a kind of chaotic filing cabinet. There was a large wood desk off to one side that was disappearing under piles of half opened mail and stacks of what looked like very official documents and file folders. A file cabinet stood to the side similarly buried. Next to the futon there was a comfortable looking desk chair on wheels pulled up to a small end table sporting a closed laptop computer that had been plugged into the wall. One corner of the apartment was completely empty except for a five gallon bucket full of water and several bales of hay.

After glancing around and realizing that he was alone, Harry pulled off his glasses and deftly bent them back into shape. He was used to having to straighten out his glasses after losing games of 'Harry hunting'.

Just as he was placing them back on his face the door opened and Inez walked in wearing a long burgundy skirt that swirled around her ankles with a tan long-sleeved t-shirt.

"Good morning," she said, seeing him sitting up. She closed the door behind her then dug her hand into the paper grocery sack cradled in her other arm. "Breakfast?" she inquired as she pulled out a grapefruit. She went to the kitchen area and began to unpack the grocery sack onto the counter, which was the only clear elevated space in the entire apartment.

After a large breakfast of grapefruit, toast, and eggs, during which there was little conversation and a lot of wary glances, Inez opened up the topic they had both been cautiously avoiding since they woke up.

"If you're going to stay here, I need to know who you are, but the first question I want to ask is what you meant when you asked if I was a witch yesterday." They were sitting on the futon, which had been pulled back up from its flattened position.

"Do you really not remember what happened in the park?" Harry asked, hoping that she did, as it might help him with his explanation. She shook her head and Harry continued, thinking that the events of the park, whatever they were, nullified the Statute of Secrecy, even if she didn't remember the event, "I was out running and I saw green flashes of light. The only thing I know of that makes that color light is a killing curse."

Inez raised her eyebrow slightly in inquiry.

"There is a … secret world … a hidden society of people who possess magic." When she did not respond to this revelation, Harry continued, "We call ourselves witches and wizards, and we have hidden our existence from muggles, or non magical folk, for centuries."

"So you're a wizard," she stated more than asked, and when Harry nodded she said, "and you thought I was a witch."

"You…," Harry paused as he struggled to explain his own reasoning, "there was the curse in the park, and then, the other day, your injuries where healed. And you are like no muggle I've ever seen. No witch either for that matter," he muttered the last bit to himself, but that didn't stop Inez from catching the statement. Then he spoke up again, "If you're not a witch, then what are you?"

"I am a vagabond." With his look of utter bewilderment, her face arranged itself into an expression of slight amusement at his confusion. It was kind of a vague approximation of a smile. The expression one makes when they want to convey the emotion that accompanies a smile, without the traditional expression. It was like she had forgotten how to smile; but the expression wasn't clumsy or awkward like it would be on most faces, probably because she just didn't do clumsy and awkward.

"Mostly I work as a kind of freelance agent or spy. My reputation gives me enough clout to be picky about the jobs I accept. So I generally I go where I want, when I want; sometimes I take clients, and sometimes I work for myself." She didn't sound as happy as the statement suggested she should. In fact she almost seemed melancholy. When Harry pointed this out she responded cryptically, "It looks like freedom from your side of the fence."

Before he could think of a way to respond to this statement she asked, "So, Harry Potter the wizard, who are you?"

There was something about her that just told him he didn't have to hold anything back from her. It was the same feeling that made him trust her the day before; the feeling that let him run away from the Dursley's, and the Order, placing his fate in her hands.

"My parents were murdered by a very evil wizard when I was only a year old. He tried to kill me, but his curse only gave me this scar, and sent him into exile as little more than a spirit. I'm famous for that," he added bitterly. "He's been trying to kill me ever since, and last year he performed a ritual that gave him his body back. Aparently the only place that I'm completely safe from him is at my relatives'. So Dumbledore sends me back to live with my aunt and uncle, who hate me, while the wizarding world is in the throes of a war that revolves largely around me, and no one will tell me anything!" At some point, without his permission, the narrative became a rant about Harry's frustrations.

"How are you the center of this war?" Inez asked.

"Voldemort, the evil wizard, is a little obsessed with me."

"Have you met this man, Voldemort, other than when you were too young to remember?" Inez decided to steer the conversation away from whatever had this wizard interested in Harry, as he seemed reluctant to discuss the topic.

Harry snorted, "If you can call him a man," then went on to answer her question, "Yes, I've met him, four times, not counting the time when I was a baby. My first year at Hogwarts, the wizard school, he possessed one of my teachers in an attempt to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. Dumbledore was out of the castle, and McGonagall didn't believe me when I told her the stone was in danger. We weren't even supposed to know the stone was in the school. So a couple of friends and I went to try to get to the Stone first. He was already there when I arrived, so I just tried to stall him until help could come. I got lucky and he ran when Dumbledore showed up.

"Who are Dumbledore and McGonagall?" Inez interjected.

"Professor Dumbledore is the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and supposedly the greatest wizard of our time. Professor McGonagall teaches transfiguration, is head of Gryffindor house, and is Dunbledore's Deputy Headmistress.

"My second year, when I was twelve. He used a memory of himself kept in a diary to possess my best friend's little sister. He had opened the Chamber of Secrets which was hidden under the school, and was sending the basilisk in the chamber to attack the muggleborns in the school. I went down to save Ginny when he took her into the chamber. He was using her life energy to make himself corporeal. I killed the basilisk with Gryffindor's sword after Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, took its eyes out. Then I put one of the fangs through the diary, which destroyed Riddle's memory." Once he had gotten started, Harry seemed to have little problem with continuing to the end of his tale.

"Riddle?"

"Voldemort's real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"My fourth year he kidnapped me and used my blood in the ritual to get his body back. I escaped, Cedric did not." There was a long pause here, and Inez didn't move to fill it.

"And then, this June he tricked me into thinking that he was torturing my Godfather in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. I led a group of friends to rescue him, but it was a trap, and when Sirius came to rescue me from the trap … he …" Harry turned away, that wound was still too fresh, "He tried to possess me, Voldemort did, didn't work though. Then Fudge saw him and decided I might not be crazy after all."

"Crazy?"

"The minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, refused to believe that Voldemort had returned, so he used the Daily Prophet to slander my name. He won't hold the office for much longer now though, now that everyone knows the truth." Harry was happy to discuss something that didn't make him want to curl up in a corner.

"What does this Voldemort do that makes him so evil?"

"He and his followers, the Death Eaters, believe that the only people who should have any rights at all are the so called 'purebloods'. Muggleborns are unworthy, and muggles are no more than animals to them. They go on raids where they torture and kill muggles and those who associate with them. Voldemort incites dreams of a world where the purebloods rule and everyone else is a slave." Harry leaned back, wondering at when he had become so open. "Alright, now you know the story of The Boy-Who-Lived, all I know about you is that you're some kind of freelance spy."

"Boy-Who-Lived?"

"An epithet I received when my parents were killed, but don't change the topic." He now realized that the goal of learning about her had unconsciously fed his desire to tell his story along with the unexplainable feeling that he could trust her.

"If I am going to tell my story, you have to promise me that you will repeat it to no one. I have remained something of an enigma, which tends to heighten my reputation. But, as you were so gracious as to reveal your past to me, I feel I must respond in kind." She waited for him to nod before continuing, "I was born in the United States to good and loving parents who mysteriously died when I was six years old. I had heard horror stories about orphanages and other such things, so I ran away, and ended up living on the streets of Chicago. Not a good place for a child of six, but I survived.

"Several years later, when I was about ten, a group of people came to take me away. They told me that they would train me; give me the skills to rid the world of injustice, and as a child on the streets I had seen plenty of injustice. It seemed almost too good to be true, and I accepted. They took me to a secret island - I still don't know where it is - and there I began my training with the elves. They were strict and unforgiving masters, but not cruel, so I was content for a time, and I learned much. Math, science, economics, philosophy, anything I would need to navigate through the human world with ease, along with modern weaponry, martial arts, and swordplay.

"At sixteen, exactly six years after I had begun my training, they told me the real reason I had been brought to the island.

"You know that there are dragons, real dragons that breathe fire, right?" When Harry nodded in the affirmative she continued, "The dragons that exist today are descended from an ancient race of sentient dragons. These dragons were powerful magically as well as intellectually, but they mostly kept to themselves, high in the mountians.

"The elves thought them too powerful to be left alone. They feared them because, together, the dragons had the power and ability to rule all the world. So the elves designed a poison that made the dragons unable to reproduce.

"But the dragons had the ability to shift form and become human. They soon learned that they could produce human offspring, and so dragon blood began to run in human veins as they strived to preserve their race. The dragon blood has become diluted and is, for the most part, undetectable. But once in a while that blood breeds true, bringing strength, stamina, and prolonged life, along with some innate magical abilities.

"The elves would hunt down these 'dragon children' and bring them to their island, not only to train them, but to bring them under their control.

"That was the year I learned to hate." Inez's eyes became fierce as she stared off to one side, before turning her gaze back to Harry. "My mentors became slave masters, and all illusions that I had of their benevolence were shattered when I realized that my parents had been poisoned by the elves to 'prepare me for my training'. It took me years to figure out how to escape them; for they had the ability to hold anyone to their orders against their own will.

"After I escaped I began to hire myself out to governments, companies, and others in an attempt to put all that training to good use. I slowly gained reputation, and enough money to support myself for several lifetimes. And that is how I ended up here."

Harry sat back to absorb all of the information he had received while Inez got up to find something in her cupboards for lunch, as they had been talking for several hours. When he had sufficiently collected his thoughts he asked about something that was bothering him, "How old are you?"

"Much older then I look," Inez said without even turning around, making Harry smile.

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_Did everything make sense? You all have got to help me out here so I know what I'm doing wrong and what I'm doing right so I can make it better for you._

_I'm also looking for a beta if any one's interested. I need lots of help, especially when it comes to characterization. _


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I claim nothing._

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 7:**

Lunch consisted of chicken noodle soup from a can and bread from the freezer that had to be thawed out in the microwave. Said microwave was perched precariously on a too narrow shelf in a half open cupboard in such a way that it made Harry nervous when Inez coaxed the door of the appliance open with a hearty jerk.

As they carried their food to the futon Harry voiced what they had both been thinking, "So now what?"

"That's up to you," was all Inez had for an answer.

Harry frowned in thought and they proceeded to eat in silence.

As they were just finishing their last bites an odd muffled banging came from the door. Inez went and let in the horse that Harry had convinced himself he had imagined the night before. He was tall and slender, for a horse, his body a beautiful gold that shone with a hint of red. His long legs were marked with charcoal stockings that matched his tail and mane.

The animal didn't even spare him a glance as it sauntered over to the empty corner of the flat, which surprisingly - considering its inhabitant - didn't stink of horse; didn't stink at all really.

Harry's attention was so centered on the mysterious horse that Inez's voice made him jump slightly.

"His name is Alagos. I guess you could call him my roommate, of sorts."

"Alagos?" Harry parroted, mostly because he couldn't even think how to respond to such an introduction.

"It means windstorm," Inez said in answer to what Harry had unintentionally asked. Inez then proceeded to wander over to the overflowing desk and began to shift papers around, effectively leaving Harry with nothing to do but sit and ruminate over his current predicament.

He really hadn't done much serious thinking since the first week after returning to the Dursley's. That week had the worst week of his life at number 4 Privet Drive. His aunt and uncle were still sore from the dementor incident the summer before, and they made sure that he knew it.

Surprisingly, Dudley had hesitantly grasped the idea that Harry had actually saved him from the wraiths and not attacked him with them. Having to confront his worst memories had also seemed to have a bit of an effect on him. This summer he had seemed content to avoid Harry instead of hunt him. Harry had also heard fewer rumors concerning the trouble that 'Big D's group normally got into around the neighborhood.

Dudley's indifference was welcome but it didn't have any effect on the elder Dursleys, whose hate had seemed to compound over the last year. The moment he had returned they had run him ragged with too many chores and too little food. It didn't help at all that he had returned nearly broken from the department of mysteries.

Those first few days he did nothing but work, willingly throwing himself into whatever tasks his relatives assigned, mostly in an effort to keep his mind and body occupied with something so he didn't have to think… or feel.

For nearly five straight days he was nothing more than a robot; an automated machine with no feelings or independent thought. Each day he worked himself to exhaustion and collapsed onto his small bed for a few hours of deep sleep. The exhaustion kept away the dreams, and the work kept the pain at bay, not to mention the fear, and the sickening feeling of being buried with impossible expectations.

In the evening of the fifth day, Uncle Vernon was having some potential clients over for dinner; Harry was to follow the old routine and pretend not to exist. It was the first time he had sat still while conscious for more then five minutes since he had been back. Sitting in his still, silent, small room with no cleaning, cooking, or weeding to occupy himself with, he was forcefully pulled out of his deepening apathy.

He had sat there on the edge of his bed, eyes boring into the opposite wall while the room seemed to close in on him, forcing him inside himself to face all that he had been avoiding. He sat there, rigid, trying to eliminate all thought, painting his mind with the blankness of the wall in front of him, using it as a shield against the anguish riling just below the surface. He managed to hold out for over an hour, ignoring the sounds of dinner drifting up from the ground floor.

Then the tears began to escape, slowly sliding down his stone face. For several minutes he sat like that, a crying statue, before his feelings truly began to surface, breaking through the numbness that had resided there. His face scrunched itself up into some grotesque mask against the howl of misery that had been building inside him, hiding under the blanket of his apathy. It was all he could do to keep silent for the duration of the dinner party.

He started rocking back and forth on the edge of the bed in an effort to abate some of the increasingly violent urges pulling at his muscles. When that could not back hold his pain any longer he stood up forcefully and paced several steps in every direction about the tiny room before dropping to his knees. Leaning forward, he pressed his hands flat to the hard floor; the muscles tensed as if trying to wrap his fingers through and around the wood beneath them. While he was barely able to keep the tortured cries from escaping he could not stop from convulsing in violent sobs.

He had been so close! For a few short years he had almost had what he wanted above all else. He had almost had what the mirror of Erised had mocked him with in his first year. A family. Someone who loved him when he messed up, who supported him when he failed, who wanted to spend time with him, live with him even, not because he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, or because they needed him to kill some homicidal jerk; someone who was not blinded by his fame and the stupid scar on his forehead. The kind of family that everyone should be entitled to, something he ought to be privileged to take for granted, like so many others.

He felt like he had barely had any opportunity at all to really get to know his godfather. Harry had only met him at the end of third year and Sirius's fugitive status kept him away most of the time. It had been stolen from him! His chance at being truly happy for the first time in his life! His only dream - the one that had kept him company during the long, lonely hours in the cupboard under the stairs; the impossible hope that someone would come and rescue him, someone that would hold him and call him family - was shattered as his only real chance at a true father figure fell through that cursed veil.

He clenched his eyes shut against the tears that were pooling on the floor between his hands. He ached, physically, with the grief that was ripping through him. Finally he could bear it no longer and threw his head back, loosing the anguished scream that had been fighting to escape. It ripped past his throat and filled the entire house, chilling the all of the Dursleys to the very core. It seemed to ring forever in their ears, though it had in reality lasted less then a second.

Luckily the dinner guests had left several minutes earlier, and had only heard the muffled pacing and the thump as Harry's knees had hit the floor.

For a moment none of the Dursleys moved, frozen in shock and no small amount of trepidation. Then Vernon seemed to collect himself. He could care less what the excuse was, or what such a heartbreaking cry revealed about the boy in the smallest bedroom and that boy's mental state. He would not have that freak making such a racket in his home.

He stormed his way up the stairs and banged a closed fist on the closed door of his nephew's room. "Shut up in there! You want to attract the attention of the entire neighborhood? You're lucky the Michaels didn't hear you, boy!"

His uncle's shouting from outside his door seemed to spark something in the wretched figure on the floor. Jerking to his feet, Harry crossed the short distance to the door. Taking both of his fists, he brought them both down hard on the wooden door, letting out another shout, this one filled with more anger and frustration then pain.

He fell against the door, using the vertical surface as support. He leaned there against the door and mourned his life. Cried for the life that he had lived in this pristine prison.

Pausing for breath, Vernon flinched slightly at the shout then impact on the other side of the door. Then he heard the tortured sobs emitting from his normally quiet and stoic nephew. The sound unsettled him more then a little. He could not imagine what kind of tragedy could have evoked this kind of reaction from the boy. Whatever else he said or believed about the boy, he knew that something big must have happened to get a reaction like this. He had not seen the boy cry since Dudley was five and had accidentally bumped into Harry, causing him to fall down the stairs; a fall that had resulted in a broken arm.

So unsettled was he by the noises filtering through the door that Vernon lost all his bluster, staring at the door with trepidation he turned and went to go get ready for bed. If the boy hadn't sorted himself out by morning, or if he kept anyone awake with his incessant blubbering, he would give that boy a good piece of his mind.

Harry was still sobbing against the door in his room. He had been mocked and abused nearly all his life by those who hated him because they feared what he could do. They didn't even know the true extent of the danger they were in because of him. They didn't know that he could be possessed; controlled. That their lives could hang on the whim of a madman who wouldn't hesitate to kill them all in the most painful way, all the while cackling in enjoyment.

All of a sudden the grief receded to be replaced by an all encompassing fear. He went very still and very quiet very quickly, then pushed off from the door with his hands, falling back onto the floor. He rolled over quickly and jerkily crawled into the corner next to the wardrobe. Putting his back to the corner he brought his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees as if trying to protect himself from all of the empty space around him, all the while shaking like a leaf in a windstorm.

His thoughts traveled back to the atrium of the ministry of magic. He remembered getting possessed by Voldemort; he remembered the sheer agony of it. He never wanted to go through that again; more because of the implications of the possession then because of the pain. It scared him, more then anything else in the world, that Voldemort might take hold of his mind and his body. That he might make him hurt and kill those he loved with his own hands. Harry may not be controlling the actions, but it would still be his body doing it.

He could just picture the looks of terror and agony on their faces as Voldemort would make him torture them. He could hear Ron yelling at him to snap out of it, and see Hermione pleading with him to fight, to force Voldemort out, but he couldn't, he couldn't!

These images ran through his head clearer and more vivid then any nightmare. He knew at this moment that his boggart would no longer be a dementor. A dementor did not make him want to curl up into a corner and hide from the world, but the mere thought of possession and the things Voldemort could make him do, almost made him physically ill with dread.

When he had collected himself enough to actually form a coherent thought he became angry with himself. He was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived; he couldn't afford to have a nervous breakdown, especially now with the fate of the entire wizarding world on his shoulders. Not to mention the innocent muggles that would be caught in the crossfire.

He let his anger overcome his fear. His anger at himself for letting himself break down so fully. He also let his anger at others to surface. He was angry at Snape for provoking Sirius into leaving. He was angry at Bellatrix for killing Sirius. He was angry at Sirius for playing with her, instead of taking his life, or death as it turned out, seriously. He was angry at Voldemort for tricking him. He was angry at himself for being tricked. And he was angry at Dumbledore for not telling him anything.

He knew there was no way he could face down Voldemort if he was petrified in fear. Like it or not, he couldn't afford to be afraid. Fear could be a tool, it can tell you when to run, but it can also prevent you from doing so. Fear was what turned proud, power hungry men into sniveling boot lickers. Fear could make you freeze when you should run, make you cower when you should fight. Fear could keep you from being foolhardy and reckless, or it could rob you of coherent thought and steal what chance you have at surviving. It was that type of fear that he must overcome; the all encompassing, paralyzing fear that prevented you from doing what needed to be done.

Harry knew that, for him, the best way to conquer fear was action. That's why he had to go to the Ministry instead of trust that Snape would get the message through. Purpose and determination were the best way Harry knew to override his fear. But what could he do about this fear of the future, the fear of being out of his own control?

He had to get rid of Voldemort; that was certain. The monster, for he couldn't be called a man, could not be allowed to continue torturing and killing innocents. He couldn't survive to continue to be a threat to Harry's friends, and most certainly to his free will.

Such a goal would require lots of work, and more importantly, lots of time. So in the interim he would have to learn occlumency. Occlumency to defend his mind, and magical defense to defend his friends, maybe even physical defense. How would Voldemort react if Harry just walked up and punched him in the nose? That was an entertaining picture.

Too weary to ponder any more, Harry had fallen asleep. The mental and emotional exhaustion driving him to slumber.

Those decisions made in the middle of the night changed the way Harry lived the rest of his life. He had a purpose, a drive that would allow him to push past the tragedies of the past and prevent those of the future.

When he had awoken the next morning, stiff from sleeping on the floor, he had implemented his new training regimen right away.

Now, sitting on Inez's futon, watching her fiddle with her mess of papers, Harry's thoughts traveled back to the goal he had made the night of the breakdown: to rid the world of Voldemort, not simply because he was destined to, but because he didn't want to live in fear.

If Inez couldn't help him achieve that goal, who could?

_Hope you enjoyed it. Criticism is welcomed, as are questions. Let me know if there's anything in particular you are curious about, or want to see in the story. _


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: disclaimed._

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 8:**

"Inez," Harry inquired, one he had his thoughts sufficiently sorted. She turned to him, immediately abandoning whatever she had been buried in during the last hour. With her attention so completely focused on him, the boy-who-lived felt somehow important, like nothing he said would be ignored or taken lightly. It reassured him, and solidified the plan forming in his mind. "I…er…I need…Are you going to be busy for the next month or so?" As reassuring as her steady and interested gaze was, it was also a little disconcerting.

"I am available for hire."

"Well…can I hire you? As a teacher? I want – I need to learn everything I can to defeat Voldemort. I thought maybe you could teach me some of the stuff the Elves taught you or something."

"It won't be easy…or fun," Inez stated in warning, understanding his request, despite his ineloquence in expressing it.

"I know," Harry answered, ignorant to what he was agreeing to.

Harry very nearly strongly regretted asking Inez for help in becoming the man who could defeat Voldemort. The only thing that kept him from attempting to retract his request for training completely was the knowledge that he needed to learn what she was teaching him. Needed it like a child needs a smile and a criminal needs a cell.

She worked him, she worked him harder than he had ever worked in his life. He didn't mind the physical work so much, it was the emotional wringing he received as she pushed him to become the leader he desperately needed to be.

She started off by asking him about everything he ever knew about the wizarding world. It was in those first few days the Harry realized that he knew very little about the workings of the world he lived in. This realization brought about their first trip to Diagon Ally.

Harry went in disguise, covering his hair and scar with a simple bandana, and replacing his glasses with some color contacts. They first went to Gringotts, where the Goblin teller stared into the Boy-Who-Lived's artificially honey-colored eyes before calling another to take them in a cart to the vault.

As Harry went to fill his money sack in preparation for the purchases they planned to make, Inez turned to Tormut, the goblin who had brought them down.

She was asking all kinds of questions that one should ask about one's account, but Harry had never thought to. He had been so overwhelmed by the fact that he actually had a bank account, at a bank run by goblins, no less, and that the account wasn't empty.

The goblin kept answering the dragon with some noncommittal variation of 'That information can only be given to the account holder by the goblin responsible for the management of the account.'

Harry, after collecting his withdrawal, decided to help Inez in her never-ending quest for information. "Tormut? Is there any way we could meet with the goblin in charge of my account?"

"Of course," the goblin answered agreeably. Harry never understood why people thought that goblins were rude, they had always been perfectly polite to him. But then again, they probably find it just as hard to be polite to someone who thinks they're above you, when, in all reality, they're not, as everyone else. "I shall inquire after Shoulbuck's schedule when we have returned to the antechamber."

"Thank you, Tormut."

Tormut gave a small bow of acknowledgement before leading the way back to the cart.

They waited for about seven minutes in the entry hall before Harry saw a familiar goblin approach them. "Hello, Griphook."

The goblin paused in surprise before completing his approach. "Mr. Potter," he said with a small bow, "it is not often that one of my kind is recognized by name by a wizard."

"Of course I remember you, you took me on my first cart ride," Harry replied, a small amount of incredulity coloring his voice.

Griphook bowed again in response before bidding them to follow him to Shoulbuck's office.

The office hallways were just as twisted and confusing as the tunnels to the vaults down below, just a little more compact, and a lot more comfortable, with plush, scarlet carpets and marble wall panels lining the way.

The door Griphook led them to was made of some kind of a polished warm brown colored stone. Though it must have been heavy, it was hung with such precision that it swung easily on its hinges after the latch was released. Griphook announced them to the goblin inside the stunning but modest office.

"Mr. Potter," the Goblin nodded in greeting from behind a granite desk.

"Shoulbuck," Harry nodded in reply.

"Who is your companion?" the goblin inquired bluntly.

"My teacher and advisor…"

"Inez," the dragon warrior interrupted with a deep bow.

Shoulbuck's eyebrows rose at the unexpected gesture before moving on with a business like bruskness. "It is to my understanding that you have come here with inquires about the Potter estate."

"That is correct," said Harry, matching the goblin's professional manner.

Reading people and controlling interactions was another thing he and Inez had worked on when they had tired of dredging up half remembered information. Harry was a natural at it. Growing up at the Dursleys, where a wrong look from him or a certain mood of theirs determined when his next meal would be, had honed that talent. The awareness that Inez brought to what he simply saw as survival had helped Harry apply that ability to the rest of his life.

Inez then proceeded to hound Shoulbuck with questions, many of which Harry would have never thought to ask.

They learned several things from the friendly interrogation that surprised Harry no small amount. They learned that the vault he got his money from every year was a trust fund set up by his parents to cover the cost of his schooling. The bulk of his fortune was sequestered in the much more secure family vault. A good portion of that fortune was in the form of heirlooms, property, and investments. Harry's place as head of the Potter family also granted him a seat on the Wizengamot.

One of the bigger shocks of the day was the fact that Sirius had named him the heir to the Black family headship as well, which gave him another Wizengamot seat as well as the considerable Black fortune, which was now short only a small percentage that Sirius had given to Remus along with a small townhouse in Hogsmeade, and a small pile of gold granted to the Weasleys.

Shoulbuck also suggested that Harry undergo a heritage test. "Many wizards find that they are heirs to families that have long since died out, either magically or through the blood of some forgotten line."

Harry agreed without hesitation asking, "What would I need to do?"

"Just place a drop of your blood in here," the goblin said, holding out a bottle of bright blue ink, "and then cast a simple _finite_ on the bottle so it can register your magical signature."

"How does one become a magical heir?" Harry asked with true curiosity.

"If a strong magical line finds itself without a blood heir at the time of the head's termination, the head or the magic of the line itself will choose another as heir to the line. The heirship is marked in the recipient's magical signature, and they receive all of the privileges that would come with traditional, blood heirship." The banker answered briskly.

Harry did as directed, then watched as Shoulbuck placed a crystal pen with a metal quill tip in the bottle of ink next to an empty roll of black parchment. Harry watched as the ink, which had turned from blue to a very pale green at the addition of Harry's blood and magical signature, was drawn up the hollow center of the clear pen. When the pen had filled itself, Shoulbuck plucked it out of the ink bottle and placed it on the black parchment, where it stayed erect on its tip like a Quick Quotes Quill.

The pen quivered for a moment before beginning to sweep across the parchment. The pale green ink contrasted well with the ebony parchment, and the sweeping script was easily read. It was almost a minute before the pen stopped, falling to the desktop.

Shoulbuck put the pen back away in its drawer and discarded the leftover ink before motioning them closer so that they could all examine the black parchment together.

"These are the families that you control through blood," Shoulbuck said, using his long, narrow fingers to point out a short list above a line that crossed the parchment separating it from a slightly longer list below. "And these," Shoulbuck indicated the names below the line, "are the families that you are magically heir to."

Most of the names were unfamiliar to Harry, but he almost fell out of his chair when he read the second to last name on the list:

_Potter_

_Markhamn_

_Hamilton_

_Prescott_

_----------_

_Aghton_

_Black_

_Calcott_

_Gremshawe_

_Locke_

_Marsden_

_Slytherin_

_Whinrowe_

Ignoring Harry's shock Shoulbuck continued to explain exactly how the names on the list would effect the boy-who-lived.

"The first set is listed in order of the strength of the blood tie to you.

"Potter is, of course, your father's name, and as head of the Potter family you have a vote in the Wizengamot, along with a large family vault, noteable property holdings, and some significant investments. All of which you are already aware of.

"The Markhamn family, very prominent in their day, disappeared over a century ago. I believe I can safely make the assumption that perhaps your mother descended from a squib of that family. While nothing remains of the Markhamn's material wealth, they did hold a Wizengamot vote.

"The Hamilton's and Prescott's were minor families that married into your father's line. With those names come only a handful of small investments in minor companies, and a small pile of gold in vault 783.

"Your list of magical heirship is the longest I've seen, Mr. Potter, but I'm hardly surprised. Most of these names are of minor families whose heads died heirless within the last fifteen years. These ailing men must have decided that the most recent hero was the best holder of what little they had.

"The exceptions to this are, of course, the Back and Slytherin names. Your godfather named you heir to the Black headship, along with the property, investments, and Wizengamot vote.

"How you became head of the Slytherin family is a curious phenomenon. As far as I know, the last holder of the title is still alive. Perhaps his methods at remaining so are questionable enough to rob him of the headship. All that aside, the Slytherin name carries a Wizengamot seat with it along with all its reputation.

"In short, Mr.Potter, you are extremely wealthy, holding six Gringott's vaults, some fuller than others, five votes in the Wizengamot, a rather large stack of deeds to some very nice pieces of property, and a great number of profitable investments, not including your partnership with the misters Weasley, for which a new, separate account has been opened."

Harry felt braindead trying to process this new information, and was relieved that Inez was there with him as she asked the goblin respectfully, "Five seats in the Wizengamot? I believe that only four were previously mentioned."

"The Aghton name also carries a vote," Shoulbuck replied briskly.

"Thank you for clarifying that," She took a breath and ploughed on, "Do you think that we could get a list of all of Harry's assets to peruse at our leisure?"

Instead of answering, Shoulbuck pulled a short stack of parchment out of a drawer to his right, handing it forward. "These documents are confidential, meaning that they cannot be copied by anyone other then the Grigotts goblin in charge of the accounts, which in this case is me. And they cannot be read by anyone except those individuals designated by the account holder."

They left the bank shortly after, making several purchases on their way back down the alley. The most notable of these was a large, six compartment trunk to replace Harry's old one.

Harry got distracted as he walked, by some old woman throwing a tantrum in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and didn't notice when Inez paused in front of the entrance to Knockturn Alley. She had to call him back before leading the way into the less than reputable neighborhood.

Harry, taking his first real look at the alley, realized that there were many useful things to be found in Knockturn Alley. Not all of the shops were like Borgin and Burk's.

When they had started this day, Harry would never have guessed that he would make more purchases in Knockturn Alley than in its lighter counterpart.

There was a shop owned by a very talented man who made dragon hide armor. The armor was comfortable, nonrestrictive, and could be worn discretely underneath the clothes. Not only did it block physical attacks better then any similar material, but it could block no small number of magical attacks as well. Harry bought a whole set of armor to wear under his normal clothes.

Inez decided to forgo the armor and decided instead upon a soft, dark dragon hide cloak that swept the floor as she walked, along with a matching hat with a broad brim. "Sometimes one needs to create their own shadows to peer mysteriously out of, and a hat does not block the peripheral vision like a hood does," she had explained to Harry as she was trying it on.

They also found a specialty wand shop where Harry could get a wand that could not be tracked by the ministry. They found it tucked into a dark corner behind a very nice gentleman that looked to be half troll, selling fried rattails out of a large cauldron. Harry didn't even try to speculate on who his clientele was.

The wand shop was so small that it was cramped even though it was empty, save for a single small table holding some kind of registry. It was impossible to tell what exactly was written in the well worn book even if it was laying open, because whenever you drew near enough to read it the words became blurry and illegible.

The little shop, more of a moderately sized closet really, was uninhabited when they stepped in, and they stood staring at the dingy walls for a moment before turning back to each other.

"What should we do?" Harry asked. And before Inez could voice an answer, a deep rumbling voice filled the air around them, "What is your purpose here?"

The thought that asking for anyone in the wizarding world to do things normally would be wasted breath crossed Harry's mind before he shrugged in an 'oh-well' kind of way and answered, "We want to buy a wand."

"Sign the registry," was all Harry got in response, so he just shrugged again and picked up the battered quill lying next to the open book on the table. He signed his name carefully on the next available empty space, hoping that he hadn't just signed his soul over to eternal servitude, or something equally unpleasant.

He turned to hand Inez the quill so she could sign too, and was met with a fierce, ice grey glare. Harry smiled sheepishly as she hissed the importance of knowing what you're agreeing to. He'd have to add that to his list of Inez-isms that he had been compiling over the last couple days: 'Never agree to anything without knowing the full connotations of such an agreement.' He'd file it right next to 'Never assume that you already know everything about anything,' which he had heard half-a-dozen times in the last couple of days.

She snatched the quill out of his hand as he asked, "If you thought it was a bad idea for me to sign, why didn't you stop me?"

"You decided to sign in ignorance, and you get to reap the consequences of the decision." The dragon turned around and flipped the book back to the beginning.

"Oh," said Harry, "So this is a 'learn from your own mistakes' kind of lesson."

"In any case, it doesn't seem like you will be learning anything today, as this is merely a nondisclosure agreement." Inez said, after reading through the statement on the front page of the register.

"It didn't feel like something dangerous. Usually I get a feeling about those kind of things," Harry justified.

"Just don't let your 'gut feelings' kill you next time," she replied sardonically, flipping back to the page Harry had signed on and picking up the quill from where she had set it.

As soon as Inez placed her signature under Harry's, the back wall of the closet sized room slid suddenly open, startling Inez into drawing a blade from its concealment in her sleeve.

A rather short and thin man stood before them in the newly revealed room, holding an old fashioned scroll in his hands. Inez, realizing how aggressive her stance looked, put her blade back away.

Five minutes later they were all seated around a heavily damaged, wooden table. It looked to Inez as if someone not very bright had played at being a chemist with some very dangerous substances very oten. The rich wood was riddled with scorch marks, rough divots, deep grooves, and acid burns.

The wandmaker's name, they learned, was Fil. Harry thought it might be short for Phillip, but didn't give voice to the assumption. Fil had handed Harry the scroll in his hands and had the Boy-Who-Lived tell him stories of times he had ever encountered any of the wand materials on the list. Fil also had Harry tell him his opinion of nearly every material, as well.

"Wand making is more of a game than a science," he explained in his big, low voice that belied his small stature, "Especially when making wands for wizards after they have matured. Digging pre-made wands off shelves for children is an entirely different game. Often, the wizard relates better with materials they have had some kind of affinity for or contact with before."

Fil said that the wand would have to be picked up next week, but not until after badgering Inez about why she didn't want to buy a wand. Inez knew that a wand would do nothing for her. She had examined Harry's at length, and to her it was just a fancy stick; a stick that had a strange energy about it, but not something that would help her focus what little magical ability she had. Due to her heritage, Inez possessed a small amount of innate magic, though it was limited to allowing her to heal faster than average, and giving her the ability to manipulate the elven magic in her clothing and weapons.

This isn't the answer she gave to Fil, of course. She didn't say anything actually, just gave him an icy glare until the little man turned away, low voice rumbling as he mumbled to himself.

Harry paid for half of the price of the wand, (other half to be paid on pickup of product) and they made their way back home. On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron they stopped in several bookstores in both Knockturn and Diagon Alley.

Harry had raised his eyebrow at Inez when she had started dumping dark arts books into his arms in one of the Knockturn Alley shops.

"How can you defeat something you don't understand?" was her response to his questioning eyebrow, "Ignorance is fatal, Harry." The young hero added that to his growing list of Inez-isms.

The rest of the week was a blur of physical and mental exhaustion. He began to learn to fight with a blade: a knife first, and then Inez said she'd teach him the sword if he wanted, but there was little place for swords in today's society.

She also had him studying up on the magical world: politics, law, and history. He would ask her why he couldn't read about spells, or defense, and she would ask him what the point of learning spells was if he couldn't practice them, besides, he needed to learn this other stuff anyway if he wanted to use his votes in the Wizengamot responsibly or effectively. Then he would roll his eyes and get back to work.

The only break he had, besides sleeping and meals, was Thursday evening when Inez and Alagos went off for four hours. The horse - which Inez said was not a horse, but much better - was hardly ever in the apartment. It never spent the night inside after that first night, unless the weather was bad.

Harry had used the time to write letters back to his friends in thanks for his birthday presents. The night after their trip to Diagon Alley, Inez had joined Harry in keeping his tradition of staying up 'till midnight to see his birthday in. Harry opened his gifts and they each ate a piece of the cake Inez had put together that evening. The cake was edible, but not much better than that, and Inez apologized for her poor cooking abilities. "Cooking was one thing the elves weren't too concerned about, for a dragon, anyway," she had explained. Harry didn't care if the cake was bad, he was just happy to have one.

Inez's birthday gift was the beautiful pair of knives that he started learning to use the next day. "They're elf made," she had said, "The elves may be jerks, but they sure know how to make things."

_Hope you enjoyed it. This is the longest chapter yet. I've already started on Chapter nine, so, hopefully, it won't be too long 'till I can get it out. Let me know what you thought._


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer:

_Disclaimer: I never claimed it._

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 9:**

There were times in the next couple weeks when Harry hated Inez. The hate never stuck around long, though. Her demeanor didn't allow for the expectation of compassion, yet she wasn't ever unkind, just blunt and unsympathetic.

Many might have called her callous and unfeeling. When Harry mumbled something along those lines under his breath in frustration, she made a short noise of amusement, but without the expression that would have accompanied the act on any other person, and said "I wish I were unfeeling."

Inez was the only person Harry had ever met who could completely leave the room while still being there. She was constantly hiding her feelings behind an impenetrable mask. Sometimes she would remind Harry of Professor Snape when he was hiding his fear or discomfort, but while Snape's mask was made of anger and spite, Inez's was fashioned of …nothing. When she hid all emotion her face would go blank, even the light would retreat from her eyes. She plunged so far into herself it seemed as though there was nothing left on the surface.

The first time Harry witnessed this complete shutting off, he thought that she would be oblivious to everything around her. He couldn't be more wrong. He learned one thing very fast: it didn't matter what she was doing, or where she was, you could not sneak up on Inez.

One of her first goals was to instill that same awareness in Harry. "Keep track of every person in the room, and every point of entry and escape," she would tell him as they sat in a rather empty café. They continued to go out to different places to let Harry practice keeping track of more and more people. She also had him hang around the apartment blindfolded, "To teach you to use your other senses."

When practicing Harry's awareness skills in a magical pub tucked around the corner from the Ministry entrance, Inez made a curious discovery. "Can you feel them?" she asked Harry, seemingly out of the blue. Harry didn't even bother to voice his confusion. Inez closed her eyes, eliminating visual distraction as she concentrated on something else. "These people, they all have… an energy, within them. You do, too. And the door...but it feels different than the people."

"Maybe…" Harry began, before breaking off with a small shake of his messy haired head.

Inez opened her eyes to look at him, raising an eyebrow in a silent plea to finish his thought.

"Well…we're in a wizarding pub. The most obvios thing these people would have in common that could be described as energy would be magic, but I've never heard of anyone being able to sense whether people were magical or not."

Inez considered his self-consciously delivered hypothesis. "Can you not feel it?"

Harry took a deep breath to center himself before closing his eyes and stretching his senses outward. Searching for any feeling of what Inez was talking about. After a moment Harry shook his head and opened his eyes. He could feel nothing.

The incident didn't come up again for almost a week.

The physical training began to shift from the category of being not too bad, to just plain frustrating. No matter how hard he tried, or how long he worked, he felt like he never got any better. Of course the only person he had to compare his progress to was Inez, and she always seemed to be just that much further ahead.

If he wasn't so frustrated with himself he would have noticed that he never seemed to trip over anything anymore. His movements had become smooth and easy. His natural agility and Quidditch reflexes were honed into lightning fast strikes and a quick and agile defense.

They went to pick up his new wand on the Monday after their first trip to Diagon. It was made primarily of petrified aspen wood, polished to a deep, warm, reddish brown that looked black in shadow. Harry was surprised by this when he saw it, he had never heard of a stone wand, well this was technically wood turned to stone, still…

The core consisted of basilisk venom and thestral hair. Harry's brow wrinkled at this, and he looked at the Fil hopefully for a good explanation.

"Did you know that aspen trees grow in colonies? Yep, they form this central root system that can live for thousands of years shooting up new trunks and letting the old ones die. I just thought it was neat. You can come up with you own symbolism for that. Just know that the aspen wanted to be in your hand, that's all I really know. And the fact that it's petrified… well, structures of stone last longer than structures of wood, do they not?

"The core was a little more complicated than asking my wood samples which one wanted to be your wand. You have an affinity for so many different cores. But, considering that you are Harry Potter – hey you signed my book, of course I know your name – I made this a wand of war… more specifically, a wand to end war.

"Basilisk venom is fast and fatal, and you have a certain affinity for snakes. Don't think that the gossip stays locked behind stone walls like the students Mr. Potter.

"The thestral is a highly misunderstood creature, my friend. They are strong and loyal, steadfast…focused." A strange glint came alive in Fil's eyes as he spoke. "A thestral knows where it's going, and it knows how to get there." The wandmaker's voice dropped to a sudden whisper, "You know, a lot of people would go a long way to follow man like that, especially if the direction he's leading is away from oppression instead of towards it like everyone else seems to be going…"

Fil straightened up a little more and spoke in a normal voice again, "Well, Mr. Potter, it is a good wand, and I hope it will serve you well," he began to walk the pair to the door. "when this war is over, you come see me again and I'll make you a wand for peace time, with a core of phoenix tears and emerald ink."

With that the door shut behind them, effectively cutting off any further conversation. "That man is much too perceptive for his own good," Inez muttered, thoughtfully looking back at the closed door. "Is there such a thing as mystics or seers in this world?"

It took Harry a minute to realize that she was talking to him. "Er…yeah…we have seers. Most of them are more then a little crazy, though," Harry stated, thinking of Professor Trelawney.

After another thoughtful look at the shut door of the wandmaker's, Inez suggested that if he couldn't think of anything else they needed, they should return to the flat.

And they did, after a quick stop at Gringotts, where Harry inquired after a way to make withdrawals from his account without actually having to come to the bank and ride the rollercoaster cart down to his vault.

The goblin behind the desk recommended a money pouch that always held an amount equivalent to 50 galleons, replacing what he took out with money from his vault. Harry bought the larger model, which held 100 galleons instead. He also bought a wallet from the goblin that always held 200 pounds if muggle currency. It seemed practical, as he was living in the muggle world at the moment.

He was tempted to buy a couple of foreign currency wallets as well, but he really had no intention of traveling very far any time soon, so he decided to forgo that purchase for now.

When they returned to the apartment Harry was anxious to try out his new wand. It felt different from his other one; more powerful, and a little bit more…ruthless. At first the feeling frightened Harry, but he quickly realized, with a little help from Inez, that he would have to learn to be at least a little ruthless to win this war. Besides, ruthless didn't necessarily mean uncaring, it just meant that he was willing to do what it took to win.

He knew from his reading that the ministry tracked underage magic through a combination of monitoring charms on that student's place of residency, and through charms placed on the wand registered to the minor.

Harry knew he shouldn't have anything to worry about from the ministry with an unregistered wand and being in the heart of London, instead of on Privet Drive. Still… Harry's luck with the ministry hadn't been very good in the past.

The first spell he tried was a simple lumos, which worked fine and attracted no ministry attention. So next he set to work making himself unplotable. The only reason he had been able to stay out of the Order of the Phoenix's clutches for so long was that he and Inez spent their days out of the apartment in different places around London.

They trained in abandoned buildings and quiet alleyways, and spent a lot of time in restaurants and shops practicing Harry's awareness. They would walk the streets, and Inez would give him tips on how to become invisible by simply being unremarkable.

"Blend in," she'd say, "be only what those around you are, and no one will think you important enough to notice."

Harry had been practicing this skill all his life. Ever since he grew old enough to realize that life was easier when his relatives didn't notice him. Primary school had reinforced the lesson, and Harry had strived to escape the notice of his teachers and peers. He'd be quiet, well behaved, with average grades that never strayed too far to either end of the scale to attract attention.

After starting at Hogwarts this had become extra hard, as everyone seemed to go out of their way to notice him, but he eventually learned how to disappear into a crowd of students, and use the secret passages to his advantage. His friends had often remarked on how he seemed to appear out of nowhere.

It only took him a couple of days to really learn how to adapt his already well developed skill to almost any situation or environment. Inez professed to being glad that he had already developed not only the skill, but also the desire to go unnoticed, not that you could read the gladness on her blank face.

"Some people love to be the center of attention, and the vast majority of that type of person can never learn to become invisible, simply because they like to be noticed. It's good that this isn't a futile exercise for you."

Any magical study of training Harry did, he did on his own. It was the one thing that Inez, having no prior experience with magic, could not teach him. She did borrow several of his magical theory books to study for herself.

They hadn't brought up the Avada Kadavra that Inez couldn't remember since that first day, but it was on both of their minds. At this point Harry was starting to think that the green curse may never have hit her at all, but he had no other way to account for all of her injuries, as he was fairly certain that no other curses had been cast.

Mostly he just left that particular puzzle to Inez.

Now that Harry had an untraceable wand, he could potentially brush up on his dueling, which was on the top of his priority list. Once discussing this Inez, she let him practice his aim and speed with her as a target.

The first time they tried this exercise, Harry used a minor stinging hex, not wanting to hurt her. After throwing only half a dozen hexes, which didn't even get close to their mark, Inez called a halt to the drill.

Harry paused, confused, as she came to stand beside him. "Cast it again," she said, indicating the bare wall of the abandoned warehouse they had commandeered for the day. Harry did as told.

The dragon closed her silver eyes in concentration. "Again." The wizard complied. "Hm."

Harry's curiosity took hold of him, "What is it?"

Inez looked at him suddenly, as if she had forgotten he was there, though Harry knew she hadn't. "Remember in the wizarding pub, where I could feel the people? I can feel the spell the same way."

"So it was their magic you were feeling."

"So it would seem." She returned to her place opposite the boy-who-lived and had him resume the exercise.

Each day he spent about an hour hurling relatively harmless curses while she dodged. After the first week he was beginning to doubt that he would ever hit her, and she wasn't even blocking. Inez was quick as lightning and lithe as a dancer. Harry had quickly decided that the only way she would ever get hit was if she was snuck up on while in a drugged sleep.

During one of those sessions she got close enough to snatch the wand out of his hand, which seemed to make her think.

"Where does the magic come from?" she asked.

Harry just looked at her as she stood holding his wand. He was actually debating with himself on whether or not to rush her in an attempt get his wand back.

"It doesn't come from this…stick of wood, does it? Then anyone could pick up a wand and spout out spells." Her intent look broke Harry out of his contingency plans. "If the magic comes from the wizard, what purpose does the wand serve?"

"Er…"

"Can wizards do magic without a wand?"

"I don't know. I guess the accidental magic that kids do before they get their wands would technically be wandless. And Dumbledore sometimes just waves his hands for things to happen, but that may just be for show."

Inez seemed to loose herself in thought before muttering something under her breath and whirling away to where Harry's new trunk sat, but not before shoving his wand back into his hand. The trunk was usually brought with them whenever they left flat to practice as they both liked to keep the information in all those books available in case something went horribly wrong during a training session. Right now the multi-compartment trunk was sitting on the floor next to the door of the empty flat they had snuck into.

"What?" Harry wondered as she opened the trunk and began shifting through his books.

"Never become dependent on something that can be taken away," she replied decisively.

"Wasn't that what the whole physical fighting thing is for?" Harry asked, sure he had heard that particular Inez-ism before.

"It's a start," she said, straightening up with several thick tomes in her arms. She then proceeded to make herself at home on the bare floor, the three books stacked in front of her. "If you can learn to do your magic without your stick, you can truly never be disarmed." Centering her focus on the resource material before her she began flipping through the indexes.

"What are you looking for?"

"Wand theory." She set aside the first book, 'Why can't I do that? : A commentary on magical theory', and took up 'Ages of Magic: A history of magical theory'. After a moment scanning the index she seemed to find something promising because she quickly flipped to a place near the middle of the beginning of the thick tome.

Harry decided to leave her to her reading, as she gave off an air of 'do not disturb'. So he went back to practicing his speed, trying to get off as many spells as possible as fast as he could. The red beams from has stunners splashed against the far wall harmlessly.

After about ten minutes Inez interrupted him, calling him over. She pointed out several different paragraphs from the book in front of her and indicated that he should read them:

"_An average wizard's wand consists of two major components, the core and the wood of the wand itself. Each combination creates a unique magical signature. As each wizard's magic is different some wand components and combinations will work better for some wizards than others. The main purpose of a wand is to focus and amplify a wizard's magic. _

"_The wand as we know it today did not come about until the third century. Its predecessor, the staff, was not conducive to creating the movement patterns integral in communicating a wizard's intent and purpose to his magic in modern wizardry, which suggests that the staff acted merely as an amplifier, and not as a focal point for the magic. Ancient wizards must have had other means of focus."_

Harry then skipped over a page to the other paragraph Inez had pointed out.

"_When referring to wands the term amplification does not in fact refer to the increasing of a wizard's powers, but to the added ability to imbue more of a wizard's magic with his purpose and intent. Without the amplification effect of the wand, wizards would be limited to relatively weak and turbid spell work."_

Harry looked up from reading the indicated paragraphs and raised his eyebrows in question.

Inez looked slightly exasperated as she explained, "The first paragraph says that a wand focuses and amplifies a wizard's magic. The second paragraph says that you don't need it as a focus, and the third says that amplification is not needed to cast spells."

Harry thought about that for a moment, "So wandless magic isn't impossible."

"And you're going to learn how to do it," Inez added with finality and Harry held back a groan. Just one more thing to add to his already grueling schedule.

_AN: I started a __**Yahoo group**__ for this fic if anyone's interested. The link is on my profile page. It's main purpose is to give you all access to whatever __**supplemental material**__ I come up with. I've already posted an overhead view of Inez's apartment. I have a calendar of events in the works as well. I plan to use the group to keep you informed on my progress as well._


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: Do you even have to ask?_

**The Second Survivor**

**Chapter 10:**

It was slow going. The routine that they had settled into was one of the most grueling and varied schedules Harry had ever followed.

They woke up sometime between six and seven before starting with some morning sparing, sometimes unarmed, sometimes with blades. Breakfast was always a quick and informal meal. After tidying up, they would hit the town, practice blending in, and being aware, all the while searching for some new empty place to practice magic. Harry was becoming much quicker on the draw, and was getting better and better at being alert without sticking out like a sore thumb in consequence.

Harry was first introduced to practicing in large crowds during the inevitable muggle shopping trips. It was imperative that early on they replace Harry's muggle wardrobe, and he now had clothes that fit.

Lunch was always taken out in some small café or restaurant nearby wherever they happened to be.

The afternoon was filled with a variety of activities. Sometimes they would practice more magic drills, or perhaps they would study some of the books out of the trunk they had brought along, or they would quiz each other on wizarding politics or magical theory. Harry was devouring the dark arts texts, for after merely a glance in 'When friends become enemies' he realized that it would be much easier to defend against a spell if you knew what it was. The first page he had flipped open to held a description of a spell very similar to the one Hermione had been hit with in the Department of Mysteries. The book said the spell could be easily removed within several minutes by a seemingly unrelated obscure charm. Such knowledge then would have saved Hermione a great deal of pain.

Some of the other texts were a little more tedious. He struggled a bit with transfiguration, as it had never been his best subject. But several books on using transfiguration in duel situations kept him motivated.

Potions surprised him. He and Inez had started their potions study with a simple potions theory book. They had barely begun when Harry realized the root of his problem in potions was that he had no background in basic theory. The stuff Snape never taught because most purebloods pick it p at home. Things like the difference between mincing and chopping, and why stirring often had to be completely accurate, and basic magical properties of common ingredients. This new knowledge seemed to make all the difference in his brewing.

His first year, potions had been one of the subjects Harry was most excited to learn because he was so good at cooking. It seemed only logical that his skill would transfer over. He quickly learned just how wrong he was. Not only did the potions master hate him for reasons the eleven-year-old couldn't fathom, but his cooking experience seemed to do no good at all.

Now with a couple of basic facts under his belt everything seemed to fall into place. He was by no means potions master material, but he could follow instructions competently enough now. Enough to stock himself up on dreamless sleep, blood replenisher, skelegrow, burn salve, general healing potion, and pepper up. He was even able to successfully brew veritaserum after ruining half a dozen cauldrons of expensive and rare ingredients.

Potions brewing always took place in the afternoon when they found a place to train where the smoke and fumes wouldn't be noticed.

They often had dinner on the way back to the apartment, or they would whip something up after stopping for groceries.

The evening was spent working on occlumency together. Once Harry had explained what he knew on the subject Inez decided that she would attempt to learn the art too.

Harry had progressed very far in a short amount of time. It helped that he understood what the art entailed besides 'clear your mind'. In fact, Harry thought that 'clear your mind' was not only inadequate, but inaccurate. Unless Snape meant 'clear your mind of the things you don't want others to see.'

Harry quickly learned that it was pretty much impossible for anyone to think about nothing, except perhaps for Inez. Occlumency actually involved the shielding of secrets by other trivial thoughts and memories.

The idea was to fill the part of your mind that was first accessed by a legilimens with inconsequential things, requiring the attacking wizard to sort through a wall of useless information such as quidditch practices, history of magic classes, and endless chores before reaching the prophesy, Harry's plans for the future, or Snape's position as a spy. Through practice an occlumens can choose which memories a legilimens will see no matter where the invader is pushing. Such a method is known as passive occlumency.

An accomplished occlumens also has the option of pushing the attacker out of their mind forcibly. This action is not necessarily a push on the mental probe, but a wandless physical push on the attacker's body, or more accurately, the attacker's brain, breaking their concentration, and usually causing a headache instead of displacing the attacker physically.

Harry wouldn't really know how good he was at either technique until he could be tested by a legilimens, but he had plenty to do sorting out his secrets from his inconsequential thoughts. It surprised him how many little moments or short sentences spoken in the middle of an irrelevant conversation that he had to store behind his wall.

He even had to go back and resort after talking to Inez about time gaps and telling behavior: pulling out certain actions and adding in bits of events to eliminate long, obvious gaps.

Harry's largest stumbling block was his tendency to let his emotions color his thoughts. Emotion is a legilimencer's greatest tool. The organic and natural nature of the mind and more specifically, the memories contained there, does not lend itself to any type of simple organizational method. Because emotion is so deeply embedded in all of the important memories of one's life a mind reader can more easily ride an emotion to a memory than to search individually for a specific situation.

An occlumens must block the mind reader from the channels of emotion that connect the memories in his mind. If these emotions are allowed to float on the surface, as Harry's were wont to do, they provide the legilimens easy access through the barrier of trivial thoughts.

Harry did not realize until later, when he could find it in himself to view the man more objectively, that Snape's instructions had been more accurate than he had originally assumed, as the Potion's Master was referring to the clearing of the mind of emotion when suffering a mind attack.

Inez felt that her progress in the subject was almost nonexistent. She had very few memories that she wanted seen, and even after sorting through to find what few mundane memories she had, she knew that her natural tendency for mental protection was to retreat so far into herself that she would either end up drowning the attacker in nothing, or give them an empty path to her memories.

Harry had also begun to study legilimency in an attempt to understand it better. He practiced by attempting to glean the surface thoughts of passing muggles on the street. The legilimency was coming slower than the occlumency.

They went to bed when they started to fall asleep in their memories; Harry on the made up futon, and Inez on the bed across the apartment.

The flat itself had slowly begun to transform into something no longer resembling an exploded file cabinet. Every spare minute it seemed Inez was at work filing away whatever it was that littered her apartment. When Harry had asked she explained that her kind of work included a lot of paperwork – "governments like to kill trees" was the phrase - and she hadn't taken any time off between jobs to organize it all for several years. They went on a field trip one day to the store in search of a new file cabinet and several packages of hanging folders, not to mention a paper shredder to get rid of all the papers she didn't need.

Harry, after some thought, was surprised that she had lived in the same place for so long. In her line of work she made a lot of enemies who would love to kill her in her sleep. In response to this inquiry, Inez replied after a moment of consideration, "Wizards do not hold the Monopoly on magic, neither is all magic performed with a stick."

She then led him over to the book case across form the bathroom and pulled a round pale polished stone. It was about the size of a snitch, one side was flattened so that it wouldn't roll when placed on a flat surface, and when Harry looked close he could see a faint glow that originated from the very center of the rock.

"This is called a _dolemen'ondo, _which basically means 'place hiding stone' in elfish. This is one of the many bits of elfish magic I managed to escape with."

"Is that why the Order hasn't found us yet? Could it hide us here indefinitely?"

"Perhaps. The device obscures this location, it doesn't erase it. If someone was determined enough, and had enough resources, time, and determination, they might find this place."

"So what we will do when the Order finally finds me?"

"You have that much faith in their abilities?" Inez probed, remembering the ease in which they had lost Harry's 'guards' the day he left the Dursley's.

Harry considered that for a moment before answering, "I have that much faith in their persistence. I am their only weapon, you know. And I don't have the ability or the knowledge to hide us from them completely. We've been lucky so far."

"If we cannot stop them, then we must prepare for them," she concluded easily, placing the dolemen'ondo back in its place behind "The Lord of the Rings" on the bookshelf.

"I don't want them to find me," Harry protested, feeling that Inez was getting the wrong impression of his feelings on the matter.

"Then we won't let them."

Planning with Inez seemed so much simpler than planning with anyone else. Ron seldom contributed to such things, besides stating the stupidity, the craziness, or the awesomeness of it all before insisting that he play a part in the event. Hermione would spend the whole discussion arguing about either the morality of their ideas, or the danger of them, before trying to convince Harry to appeal to a higher authority. All of those so called 'higher authorities' seemed to think that anyone other than Dumbledore was supremely dimwitted when it came to deciding the best course of action. And Dumbledore simply did things for "the greater good", whose greater good, Harry didn't know.

Inez simply let him make his own decision, unless she saw that the effectiveness of that decision was in some way inhibited by his ignorance. At which point she clearly and bluntly pointed it out. She really only would input suggestions when specifically asked, otherwise simply asking him questions in a way that forced Harry to consider every detail of his plan from every angle, and to not only spot potential problems, but also to prepare for them. She also made teaching him how to deal with unexpected problems through improvisation a part of their already rigorous training schedule; because, "plans often only go right when you don't want them to."

There seemed ample time for much discussion between them during or after training, sometimes predicated upon an event, sometimes upon a question. One such discussion that significantly affected Harry was one that began with "What do you want, Harry? Why are you doing all this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Every potential martyr has a cause."

Harry just stared at her. So Inez repeated her original question, "What do you want?"

"I…" Harry began, casting around, "I want Voldemort dead," he said. That seemed like a reasonable thing for a guy in his position to want.

"Death in and of itself is not a goal, Harry," Inez answered earnestly, "It is merely a side effect, or perhaps a means to an end."

Having no response to that, Harry fell silent.

It wasn't until two full days later that Harry was able to really answer the brunette's question: What Harry wanted was a world where everyone could have the chance to grow up happy; a world where people could make their own decisions about how to live their lives and not be limited by some power-hungry maniac. Nor did he want innocents to be limited by things outside of their control. Things like lycanthropy and so called pure bloodedness. He wanted people to get the respect they deserved in the law, be they goblin, house-elf, centaur, half giant, mermaid, werewolf, vampire, muggle, squib, or wizard.

Inez was right when she said that death was a means to an end, for these goals were impossible to accomplish with Tom Riddle on the loose, and with no cell able to hold him, death seemed the only option.

Harry thought that he would perhaps feel weighed down by more goals, more responsibilities as he was creating his list, but instead he felt liberated by it. His life's purpose suddenly became constructive instead of destructive. He wasn't working to kill Voldemort with saving the wizarding world as a happy side effect to the killing. He was working to save the wizarding world from itself, with Voldemort's defeat being the side effect.

With this new reordering of priorities, the prophesy suddenly became insignificant. And to think, all this sprouted from a single, simple question. Harry wished that someone would have had the presence of mind to ask him what he wanted before this. But, he realized – if he was honest with himself – it wouldn't have had the same effect that it did right now. Heck, it wouldn't have had the same effect if anyone besides Inez had asked the question.

Inez never posed a question she didn't expect you to answer in an intelligent way, even if you only answered it for yourself.

Now that Harry had straightened out his priorities, planning for the future suddenly came a lot easier. He was now planning for a future he wanted to live in, not just to stick Voldemort in a grave before he could fill too many others. His votes in the Wizengamot became more important and he worked harder to learn the system.


End file.
